


candle in your heart, ready to be kindled

by sunbean72



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, I love him, Major Character Injury, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, because i love that one, finds a way, ho yinsen is the best, kind of, lots of references to the first iron man movie, revision of previous work, uh, we always talk about tony's legacy, yinsen has one too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbean72/pseuds/sunbean72
Summary: Post Captain America: Civil War, Tony is despondent and broken. He finds himself injured and armorless in Afghanistan when struck by an unknown enemy. When a stranger helps him in his time of need, there's a question of whether these two broken hearts can heal each other or it's too little too late for both of them.a/n I just needed someone to give him a hug, dammit





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What you seek is seeking you. -Rumi

A sudden, harsh breeze kicked dust and bent the flowers nearly to the ground. Aaiza wiped the sweat off her brow and frowned. She was filthy now, thanks to the dust, and it was a long hot day ahead, and if she bathed tonight there may not be water until tomorrow morning. She wiped her face again with her sleeve and finished watering the flowers in their little window box. The flowers did not respond favorably to her ministrations; assaulted by the blast of hot air, the dust plastered their petals to the moist earth. Aaiza sighed. As much as she loved the little flowers, she had to admit to herself that she might be fighting a losing battle. It was difficult to thrive under these conditions.

Aaiza picked up her watering can and scanned the horizon. It had been an odd breeze; ferocious as it was brief, and on an otherwise still day. It wasn't the usual gusts that came from the canyon. It had just been... odd. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except a hazy smudge to the east that could have been dust, could have been smoke, was probably nothing. She went into the house. It wasn't much cooler and offered little in the way of respite from the heat, but at least she would be out of the blazing sun for a moment. She went to the small bundle of blankets on a mattress in the corner and peeked carefully under the topmost blanket. A rosy-cheeked toddler with long, dark lashes and a mass of black, curly hair sighed in her sleep. Aaiza smiled to herself, her chest squeezing with a fierce and protective tenderness, and quietly replaced the blanket.

She went directly back to work, despite how tempting it would be to crawl beside the baby and get some much-needed rest herself. She acknowledged to herself she was tired; there was no one else to tell. She was alone and isolated here, but it was by design. Alone was safe. Alone was secure, at least as safe and secure as was possible. Alone was also lonely, especially when she was tired, but she did have the baby. It made it easier. No one to share the burdens, but someone to share the joys, and that was something. She ignored a twinge of sorrow that always squeezed her heart when she contemplated the child. She had started calling her Rose, her pretty flower that bloomed in the desert, the closest she would ever have to the real thing in this climate. 

However, the name was a lie; it always slid across her tongue with a hesitation. She didn't want the baby to forget her real name, but without knowing it and Rose being too little to speak, it was inevitable. Like most things in her life, Aaiza did what she had to, even if it made her sad, if she would rather not, if it hurt her. She was exceedingly practical, not because she wanted to be, but because she wanted to survive.

She straightened her head covering and kept on with her chores. A few hens, a donkey, a goat, a scruffy dog, a small garden, a half dozen pomegranate trees. They wanted tending constantly, and always the child needed her. She wasn't complaining, even to herself. She'd had a brief bout of independence, years ago, right after her husband died. She'd gone about it, trying not to be afraid, not to be so lonely she wanted to end it all, not to be so needy. She could picture the sneers of the American women, and she tried to be brave. But it was a relief as well as a surprise when Rose almost literally fell in her lap. Focusing on the child had given her life purpose she didn't find when taking care of just herself. It made her smarter. Craftier.

A bit more ruthless, to be honest.

She didn't have much of a reprieve before the baby woke up, wanting something to eat. Aaiza couldn't help but smile, warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the sweltering heat. It brought comfort, peace, healing that she never felt any other way. Rose babbled happily and played with toys in the shade where the chickens pecked. Aaiza worked until her hands blistered and called it a day, until the sun went down, at least.

After a simple but delicious dinner of rice and vegetables from the garden, Aaiza turned on the sink to wash the dishes. The water spluttered then stopped. She frowned. She had checked on the well last week and there should be plenty this time of day; she'd been judicious. Her heart rated ticked up slightly; she would have to venture out and check on it. If the well went dry... if it were dry, she didn't know what she would do. She had to pray that there was a small problem she could fix.

...

She waited for the sun to go down; the heat of the day slowly bleeding out of the sunbaked earth as darkness grew. It was safer; though she was isolated here and she was nearly the only one who knew about the well, the road was still dangerous. She was not the only one living a secret existence in the wilderness, and others who wished to remain hidden often had less well-intentioned reasons. 

"Reena!" She called softly to her dog. The pretty Kengal was out of sight among the underbrush and hills; she often chose a higher vantage point as if she liked to keep an eye on things. Her husband had given her the dog as a gift when they came to Afghanistan. _It's the only dog breed that can kill a wolf,_ he'd told her proudly. She'd laughed. _Are there many wolves here?_ He'd only smiled, both of them knowing that there was danger here for them, neither one really believing that anything could happen to them. 

As Reena made her way to her, Aaiza loaded and checked her gun, then replaced the safety and put it in the concealed holster on her hip. She checked that Martha, her patient donkey, had not knocked loose any tools or supplies she was bringing in case the well needed worked on. Reena stuck her wet nose against Aaiza's hand in greeting. Aaiza looked down into the dog's intelligent brown eyes, wishing, not for the first time, the animal could speak. 

"Come on, girl," she said in Dari. "Let's get some water." She leaned over and picked up Rose, her weight negligible. Aaiza thought the little one must be close to two years old, but she wasn't speaking yet and although she ate well enough she was a small child and Aaiza was strong from all the physical labor she performed day in and day out. It was easier to carry her than to worry about losing her in the dark or be slowed by her toddling gait. 

The well was not far; a couple of miles. Whoever had dug it, however long ago, had found the only spot for miles not too rocky, root-ridden, or exposed. As far as Aaiza knew, only she and one other family used it, and the other family had moved away months ago. They had maintained the well while they lived there; they had been kind enough to allow the husband to show her the basics of troubleshooting water outages and how to check on the pump and even gave her the tools they used, knowing she had no way to get them for herself. 

The rolling hills and jagged rock formations of the landscape kept the well out of sight, and the deepening twilight made it even more difficult to see-- or be seen. Reena trotted ahead of them, alert. All was silent except for insects, and the air was still. A few early stars stood out in the still blue, cloudless sky. It was peaceful, but for some reason, Aaiza could not be at ease. It was too quiet. It felt as if something were waiting for her. She brushed off her anxiety as nerves about the water not working, about having to fix it herself the first time. She had no reason to be afraid. Insurgents hadn't bothered this area for eight months at least.

She saw Reena's confident trot slow and then stop, however, and it seemed as if her unnamed worries were confirmed. Something was wrong. Something was _off._ She was several yards ahead of Aaiza and near a large and jutting rock formation, so Aaiza could not see what she was looking at. Reena was too well trained to bark, but in the quiet evening, Aaiza could hear her low growl. Reena trotted back to her, her hackles up, nosing her hand as if in reassurance, then went back to the spot she'd stopped. Aaiza set Rose down, her heart pounding. _It's nothing. You're overreacting._

It was just that she was alone. 

It was probably a rabbit. She pulled out her gun just the same and flicked off the safety. "Stay here, baby," she said quietly to Rose who looked up at her with wide eyes, sticking her thumb in her mouth and holding on to the blanket on Martha's back. If it was someone dangerous, Reena would have alerted her. If it was someone that could hurt them, she would kill them. Her tight grip on the gun slipped minutely with her sweaty palms as she inched forward. It was probably a rabbit.

"Do you speak English?" A woman's voice asked in a lilting, Irish accent. The sudden voice in the failing light startled Aaiza so badly she almost dropped the gun, but she tightened her grip on it and swung it around toward the source of the voice. She could see nothing; there was a large hole that recessed between boulders, going down several feet, and Aaiza could see nothing.

"Who's there?" She said quickly in trembling English. "Show yourself. I have a gun."

"My name is FRIDAY. Please lower your weapon," the woman said quietly.

"Like hell," Aaiza said shakily. "Not until I know who you are and what you're doing out here."

There was silence in the darkness, and Aaiza kept one eye on the black hole and one eye on little Rose, making sure she stayed safe. "I am an artificial intelligence in an Iron Man armor. The armor is damaged and the occupant is in need of medical attention." Aaiza shifted, stunned. The American superhero? He hadn't been in this part of the world for... many years. A long time. Had a bomb exploded it would have been less surprising. She could not believe it. It was absurd.

"Reena, come," she called to the dog, who was still sniffing at the entrance of the hole. She backed up, keeping her gun trained on the source of the voice. Reena whined and trotted over to her. "I don't know who you really are, but leave us alone. You better just... just leave us alone." She backed up until she was near Rose, keeping the toddler behind her and shielding her. 

"The occupant of the suit is in need of medical attention," the voice came, calm and unhurried. "Multiple systems have been damaged and are malfunctioning. Without assistance, permanent injury or death is 86.39% likely." 

"T-Tony Stark? The occupant of the suit?"

"Yes."

"What... what kind of medical attention?" Without moving her gun she wiped the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder, her back itching. She should leave. She should go. 

"We were hit with an unknown weapon that caused the suit to lose power. I was not online when it fell, so it is unknown if the weapon or the fall caused the damage. He has multiple injuries including contusions and abrasions, a broken left wrist, a broken rib on the left side, a hairline fracture of the left ankle, a concussion, a--"

"All right, all right just... hang on. Let me think. I need... I need a flashlight--"

A brilliant, bright light with a touch of blue flooded the small space. It's brightness cast harsh, black shadows in the rocky area, creating an almost eerie and frightening display, but there could be no doubt that the woman was telling the truth-- the Iron Man armor was recognizable anywhere, badly damaged with wires and broken pieces hanging off. "Dim the... turn the light off! You could attract... we have to be careful!" She holstered her gun, looking around for any sign of other people. If he'd been hit by a weapon, there could be some very dangerous people nearby.

"How long have you been like this?"

"Ten hours and thirteen minutes." Since... since this morning. He had to have gotten dehydrated in that time, though the suit and rocks had probably provided some shelter from the sun.

"I can't pull you out of there," Aaiza whispered. "Even Martha couldn't, it looks far too heavy. I could hurt him worse?"

"I have approximately 7 minutes of emergency reserve power remaining. I will put Tony on the animal." Without further discussion, the bluish light once again blazed in the falling darkness as the suit opened and ejected an unconscious man onto the dusty ground. It closed and picked him up, Aaiza making small sounds of protest, worried the man, Tony Stark, was getting further injured by the rough treatment, worried about herself, and most of all, worried about Rose. The armor sparked at the exposed wires; it's jerking movements were frightening and intimidating and Aaiza couldn't help but clutch her gun before shaking herself-- as if a gun would help. She ran forward, moving Rose to a slightly safer distance then running to steady Martha. She reached to balance the unconscious man, covered in dirt and dried sweat and frighteningly solid, warm, alive.

The bright light from the armor was dimming. "Try and hide in the rocks," Aaiza told it frantically, afraid that if it lost power she would be unable to move it. If anyone saw the armor, they would certainly come looking for Tony Stark. To her relief, the armor moved back into the recesses and shadows of the rocks. The light dimmed and the whirring stopped-- the armor was dead. Reena trotted forward, her ears perked up, investigating the sudden silence.

A shudder of fear shook Aaiza for a moment as she picked up Rose and clung to her a moment. She fought her impulse to cry, faced with the sudden danger of possible discovery. At the moment, she faced the very real dilemma of needing to fix their water problem and also get the injured man home to tend to his wounds. Without water, he would certainly die, but traveling the rest of the way to the well and hoping to not be discovered did not seem like a good option either. 

She had enough water for the short term; that would have to do.

Carefully they made their way back home, Aaiza unable to keep from checking over her shoulder every few minutes. The night remained calm and quiet, but Aaiza's fear only grew and grew. 

When they got home, Aaiza put Rose in her high chair to keep her from underfoot and then pulled the reluctant Martha right into the house and positioned her by the bed. As the mattress was on the floor, there would be a bit of a drop but there was nothing she could do about it. Untying the ropes that kept him in place, Aaiza stood on the mattress and pulled the man off the donkey, catching as much of his weight as she could to lower him to the bed, half falling with him. Extricating herself from underneath him, she got a good look at his face for the first time.

Until that moment, she still somehow doubted what was happening. But there could be no doubt anymore. His features were unmistakable, familiar to her even here, even after years of not seeing a magazine or newspaper with his picture. Tony Stark, Iron Man, was definitely and for real laying on her bed in the middle of nowhere, Afghanistan. 

Arranging him as comfortably as she could, she hurried to put Martha away, giving her an affectionate pat. She gave Rose a bottle and some bread to munch on and rolled back her sleeves, pouring precious water into a kettle to boil. She was afraid it would be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock, and He'll open the door  
> Vanish, and He'll make you shine like the sun  
> Fall, and He'll raise you to the heavens  
> Become nothing, and He'll turn you into everything.  
> -Rumi

Aaiza knelt beside the mattress, struggling to bring her emotions under control. They spiraled wildly and with such rapidity that she didn't even know what she was feeling; something close to panic seemed most fitting.

She'd been alone for so long. She could barely remember the last conversation she'd had with another adult. Had she known, had she prepared, it would have been one thing, but this? She could never have prepared for. Her hands shook.

"I have secrets, Tony Stark," she whispered to the unconscious man. "We are not safe, you and I. What will I do?" 

Always. What she must. That is what she would do. 

After the water boiled to hopefully kill anything that would make him ill or infect his wounds, Aaiza started with the most obvious problems. There was a large goose egg on his forehead near his temple already a sickly purple and red from the clotted blood under his skin. The left side of his face was also swollen, and she carefully inspected him for further injury. It definitely looked as though he'd landed on his left side. His wrist looked sprained, if not broken; it was swollen and tender looking. She gently held the wrist and moved his fingers, checking for circulation. She went to her sewing basket and took out her sewing scissors, attempting to cut away the black, tight-fitting clothing he wore.

She quickly discovered her sewing scissors were not going to cut through the tough fabric. Consternated, she looked closer; what she had taken for some kind of athletic wear was actually made of some kind of kevlar or something. She had no way to cut through it. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she leaned back on her heels, thinking. Without removing his clothing, she could not see the extent of his wounds. An uncomfortable, prickly blush worked its way up her neck; this was not something she was comfortable with, but unless he woke up she would have to undress him. To distract her thinking she pressed a hand against Tony's forehead; it was hot and dry as if he had a fever. Worriedly she pushed aside her personal comfort.

She stood and went to Rose when the child began to fuss, a welcome distraction. She set Rose on the floor with a toy which Rose ignored and instead watched her with dispassionate interest. She went to a drawer, rarely opened, the wood squeaking against the sides as it reluctantly yielded to her grasp. Her husband's clothes. They had been there for so long, they no longer even held the memory of his scent, but she'd kept them still. An unintended memorial, perhaps, but a fitting one to be used in the service of another. She pulled out a few items that looked useful, pulling them close to her chest as if to brace herself. 

She knelt again at the bedside and started bathing his face, covered in dried sweat and dirt and dust and dried blood from a small cut near his eyebrow. She couldn't help but study the sleeping man's face, knowing she was taking a liberty that probably few ever did. She noticed many scars, some faded nearly completely, some still healing. He was pale despite his fever, and she worried that he had internal bleeding. His breathing was uneven, as if pain were just under the surface of his awareness, disturbing him. His brow was tense, almost as if he were having a nightmare, but it was most likely the pain from being moved. 

What was he doing here, so very far away from his home? She had heard things; one did, even here. In the nearby village where she went to sell her pomegranates and other items from the garden, she would sometimes hear the rumors discussed. The Sokovia Accords were ratified by the UN, which had its own peacekeeping missions nearby. They had all wondered what it might mean, if it was a harbinger of a return of Iron Man or other Avengers to the area, but Aaiza had thought not. Afghanistan didn't register on the world's radar much, these days. The Ten Rings had all but gone to ground, superheroes would find very little to draw them here, she thought. But she had apparently been very wrong. Had he come as part of the Accords? Hadn't there been a disagreement with some of the other Avengers? Connected to the political unrest in Sokovia? The details escaped her. A sick kind of worry gnawed at her, giving her a stomach ache. She hadn't bothered to find out the details; the troubles of faraway countries and superheroes had seemed so far removed that it could never affect her, and yet. 

Tony stirred restlessly with the fever, or perhaps it was the pain of his injuries. She murmured quietly to reassure him the way she would Rose when she fussed. "It's all right," she said in Dari. "You're safe for now. You are wounded and I'm going to help you." She would never dare speak to him so in English, even if he was unconscious. Already she felt _invasive._ Her shy and solitary nature was only overcome by her compassion and pity for the injured man.

She realized that he wasn't just shifting in his sleep; he was coming to. "Mr. Stark." She pressed a hand against his forehead in hopes that it would keep him from sitting up too violently. His eyes flew open and his uninjured hand reached up and grabbed her wrist, his fingers encircling it so tightly it would certainly bruise. Her heart jumped like a startled bird in her ribcage. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and though he was awake he was not aware, reacting on instinct. Fear and pity warred within her as it occurred to her for the first time since rescuing him that although most called him a hero there were many others who called him dangerous, called him a murderer, called him the Merchant of Death. For a moment as his hand tightly gripped her wrist, all she felt as the pain of it and all she saw was the darkness in his eyes and she bit her cheek to keep from whimpering, at the same moment gesturing for Reena to sit, as the patient dog was on her feet, hackles raised, growling.

"M-Mr. Stark?" She stuttered. "You're safe, Mr. Stark, p-please let go." 

He released her instantly but tried to back away from her, watching Reena, bumping against the wall, his thousand injuries rupturing into a thousand pains. "Where am I? Who are you?" The words scraped out of his parched throat, raw and scratchy, adding to the other pains he felt. The pain was, at least, familiar-- unmistakable. 

"Mr. Stark, please don't move. You've been injured." Her soft voice pushed through the haze of pain and confusion and called his attention. His eyes settled on her... a youngish woman; light brown hair; sun worn and freckled; clear, bright blue eyes watching him with concern and a shadow of fear. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get his brain to function enough to know if he recognized her. He swallowed, his mouth so parched it drove out some of the other discomforts demanding his attention.

"Where? Am I?" He asked again, insistent. As if telling him where he was held the answers of the universe that had eluded him thus far, as if it were the only important information in the world. "Where?"

"Af-Afghanistan," she stammered, rubbing her wrist. She had Reena sit. "You're in Afghanistan."

She was relieved as he seemed to relax at this information only to realize an instant later that his calm was not complacency, but rather bracing himself against something-- fear. Terror. Waking up in Afghanistan had not historically gone well for him, and in his injured, confused, and fevered state, he only knew he had to get away somehow, by any means. He pushed himself up against the wall, but he was too weak, too injured. He's been mistreating his body for too long, and it betrayed him, he stumbled, bumping his injured wrist and his cracked ribs screaming in agony. His vision dimmed and he saw stars and he slumped to the ground.

A cool hand on his neck. "Aab," A small voice said soothingly. "Aab... water." Unable to see he pushed away her hands, but she was insistent and when he tasted the water he immediately grabbed the cup from her hands and drank until it was dry.

"More... please," he begged and felt her move away and return and press again the cup to his hand and he drank, twice more. He'd never been so thirsty, and the water had never tasted so good even warm and slightly brackish. His stomach churned; he felt a wave of nausea after drinking so quickly. He closed his eyes and laid back, trying not to vomit.

He opened his eyes when he felt a gentle touch on his leg. He looked down into the complacent eyes of a young child, probably only a couple of years old. It was an odd sensation. After all the brutality his body had suffered over the past few years, and even after affectionate and loving touches, the touch of this little hand with it's unhesitating, unpresuming and small motion was rarer than vibranium. It was as if a butterfly had landed on him. The little tyke calmed him down when his brain wasn't rational enough to do it himself. It was unlikely that an infant would be in a terrorist encampment, though not impossible.

"Afghanistan," he echoed. "What the hell am I doing here?"

"I don't know Mr. Stark. Getting badly injured by the looks of things." She had picked up the child and put her on the couch. With curly black hair flopping with the motion, the child flung her head against the pillow and plopped her thumb into her mouth.

"Who are you? How do you know me?"

"I know who you are because everyone does, Mr. Stark." He couldn't place her accent. She knelt down beside him and hesitatingly reached out. "Do you think you can make it to the bed? I will help you."

He hesitated but knew he had little choice. He did a surreptitious look for cameras but wherever they were, they were well hidden. She slid his arm around her shoulder and braced his weight as he stood, only to nearly collapse against her when unexpected pain shot through him like a knife when he put weight on his left ankle. She steadied him and helped ease him back to the bed and for a moment it came sharply to his mind how long it had been since anyone had handled him gently like this; not since Pepper left, not for months. It caused another kind of ache to start within in his chest and he felt like a child again for moment, wondering what he'd done to deserve Howard's coldness and rebuffs, but it was all because of Siberia it made everything old and painful new and painful again and he clenched his jaw against the ache. The woman couldn't know what he was thinking but he looked in her face and thought he might have seen a flicker of the same pitiful suffering and she didn't draw away from his hand on her shoulder.

"I didn't catch your name," he murmured, his head throbbing painfully, his hands shaking.

"Aaiza," she said slowly, finally pulling away from him. She glanced at him briefly as if waiting for something, then looked down, picking up the basin of water that had been upset by their movements. She set the basin carefully by the sink and came back to him. "The child is Rose."

"And who's the pooch? Will it attack me?"

"Reena. No. Not unless you try to hurt me."

"Right... but where's my Iron Man armor? What have you done with it? What do you want from me?" She didn't know how to interpret the pressure and anxiety in his voice as anything other than a threat of violence. She lived in a hard, harsh world, and had reason to be afraid and couldn't help but flinch away from him.

"It... it was damaged when I found you, it's about a mile from here. I didn't touch it. I- I don't want anything, Mr. Stark," she stammered, her words coming with difficulty. "I was just going to the well."

It finally seemed to pierce through the fog of injury, pain, dehydration, and confusion to _see_ her, and his fear shifted. She looked innocent but if it was some kind of trick-- "I'm sorry. Are you okay?" He asked, rubbing his left wrist.

She straightened her shoulders. "Yes." She swallowed hard. "I am okay. But you are injured. I need to treat your wounds."

"I just need the suit."

"It's damaged." She frowned. "So are you."

"I'm fine, just tired."

"I'm afraid you might have internal injuries. I just need to check for signs of bleeding."

"You a doctor or something?"

"A... I was a nurse. A long time ago. In another life." 

"Well... thanks, but. I think I'm fine." He tried to ignore the worry on her face, his headache pounding behind his eyes.

"Please Mr. Stark. For both of our sake." Not that she knew what she would do if he were badly injured. If she could safely let him recover, though, it would be a lot off her shoulders.

Reluctantly he leaned back on the mattress, an unspoken and unhappy agreement to let her investigate his injuries further. She knelt by the bed. "What hurts?"

"My... everything," he muttered. "My head. My wrist and ankle. My chest." 

She ran gentle fingers over the lump on his forehead where it receded into his hairline, trying to find the edge of it. She re-examined his wrist. "I can splint this, I think," she murmured to herself. She met his eyes. "Can you take this off?" She asked, tugging on the material. 

He hesitated. "I think so. I might need help, I can't grab it with this hand."

The movement of taking off the tight-fitting shirt aggravated his pain terribly. He was shaking and sweaty and pale and his hand came away bloody from a small puncture wound on his left side. "Oh," he said faintly, surprised. "That's why that itched."

"Mr. Stark," Aaiza said slowly in despair. His left side was a mass of bruises. The armor and undersuit had protected him from the worst of it but there was no question that he'd been subjected to a harsh trauma. She felt along his ribs, probing for injuries, her eyes flickering to his face when she encountered his many scars. She said nothing at all at the faint, circular scar as if someone had pressed a cookie cutter to the center of his chest, the place where an arc reactor had once been. "These ribs must be broken," she murmured, her fingers on his side. 

She rose and refilled the basin with nearly the rest of the boiled water, saving only enough for him to drink later. She set to work cleaning the wound, making sounds of dismay when he flinched from the pain of it. She muttered to herself in Dari. "Very dangerous. What he could have been thinking I will never know. Ouch. That is painful. Not hot, that is good, not inflammed. Certainly he is bleeding internally, but not badly that I can see. We can only pray he did not rupture his spleen! Something hit him here, this can't be from the fall. All of this appears blunt force, but _here_ there must have been something very hard and sharp. A weapon? There have not been terrorists with surface-to-air weapons for many years! It would be an incredible coincidence, but what do I know of it? I don't see any shrapnel, the shirt must have deflected it." After cleaning the wound, she pressed a clean cloth to it, pressing it firmly and taking his right hand. "Hold here, press as hard as you can."

She sat back on her heels after a few minutes, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, stretching her aching back. Still muttering to herself, she stood and went to a drawer, pulling the entire thing out and bringing it over to the bed. She ruffled through the contents, taking inventory. She shook a small bottle of pills; only a few aspirins rattled around in it. He watched her, her cheeks pink from exertion and the warm night, concentrating on her task at the moment and not looking at him. He'd been held captive many times in his life; several times he'd been kidnapped as a child, then, Afghanistan. Other times he merely felt trapped, like the Sokovian Accords. For the moment, he wasn't sure which kind of situation he was in. Warily he found no trust left to give her of what had once been abundant.

Still. 

He couldn't help but be grateful for her kindness, her gentleness, even if it wasn't real. Even if it was fake, he was thankful for it. That made him feel sick and he looked at her with resentment and mistrust when she raised her eyes.

Surprised, she looked a little afraid, but continued on her task. Silently now.

 _It's like Natasha,_ he reminded himself. She had known about his parents, too. And he had thought she had changed, become something softer, kinder than the spy/assassin. He was so stupid. He should have known. He wouldn't be that foolish or naive again. Like everyone else, if this woman wasn't overtly hostile, she was still only looking out for her own self-interests and ways to use his money or his brains or generosity to help herself. He didn't have to know anything about her to know that was true. _It's a fact. It's human nature._

Aaiza tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and worked on securing the cloth to his bleeding wound. It kept slipping down when he moved and she bit her lip. She went to her husband's old clothes and ruffled through them, aware of and trying to ignore the injured billionaire's constant scrutiny. She glanced at Rose; the baby had fallen asleep on the couch.

In truth, his wounds were not the only thing she had noticed. The unhealthy pallor, the sour odor of his sweat, the wasting state of his still strong body. Aaiza had a sneaking suspicion that would certainly... complicate things. She'd seen it before, both as a nurse and when her older brother left as a teenager. He'd been that way-- wasted by hidden grief and drowning his soul in alcohol. Someone in the throes of alcoholism could very easily get sick and die, and that was without major bodily injury. Aaiza's soul shook. She was afraid, so afraid. She didn't want to face the reasons, didn't want to feel any of it, so she focused harder on the task at hand. Tasks that had no emotion, that occupied her mind and her hands and blocked her foolish and broken heart from feeling too much. 

She cut and tore her husband's old shirt into strips. The gray one. She'd spilled the spaghetti sauce on it in Prague, it never quite came out, so he wore it when working around the house. The blue one, then the other dark blue one, each one connected with the man she'd loved and lost and she felt that loss again as she hadn't in ages. She almost, almost felt the brush of his hand against her arm and she shuddered; she felt cold in the too hot evening, haunted by long-dead shadows of darkness.

Tony had half fallen back to sleep, slumped against the wall with his eyes closed, his hand lax against the cloth that was slowly absorbing the blood still seeping from his wound. She touched his shoulder and he sat up, still groggy, and she steadied him. "It's all right," she said in English. "I'm just going to wrap your ribs and your wound, then you can rest. Can you drink this water? Slowly."

She was no expert, that was for certain, but she saw some relief of his pain. She gave him one of the shirts to wear; he was very nearly her husband's same size, a funny coincidence. She helped him limp to the tiny bathroom in the house, turning away when he relieved himself, but stopped him from flushing, pursing her lips. "No water. I have to go check the well."

"I'm surprised you have indoor plumbing," he said, screwing his eyes against the pain in his throbbing head. "Are we far from a city? How do you have electricity?"

"We are... far from any villages," she answered, her heart pounding, again reminding herself that like it or not, she was at this man's mercy in many ways. She felt comforted by Reena. "It empties downstream in a river. In the winter we must use the outhouse because the water freezes. I have a generator that we can use for electricity when there is fuel." She didn't explain the relatively luxurious amenities, nor how a there came to be a woman living alone in the middle of nowhere with a child in a country diffuse with cultural restrictions that put her life in danger by being alone with him. Tony knew it was dangerous for her if this was real, but part of him refused to believe it wasn't a trick and the rest struggled to think at all.

She finished helping him change into her husband's clothes, a loose fitting linen before he collapsed back onto the mattress. He was not sweating anymore, but his skin was hot and flushed and she could feel the heat of his fever as she helped lower him to the bed. "If you were in America, you wouldn't be allowed out of bed," she noted.

"Give me back my suit and I'll be out of your hair."

"I would if I could, Mr. Stark. But the woman, the voice in the suit, said it was too badly damaged and had no power."

"Uh huh," he responded skeptically. She frowned at him, then sighed, bowing her head, mentally prodding herself to not give in to the unexpected danger she'd been thrust into by caring for the wounded man. He never asked for her help; she could have walked away. He certainly never chose to be here. She could not be angry with him simply because she was afraid.

"Mr. Stark, I have a question. It's of a personal nature."

"Oh, we're about to get more personal than watching me pee?"

To her worsening embarrassment, his words started a blotchy blush up her neck to her cheeks. He probably had no idea how difficult any of this was for her; but she hadn't asked for it either. She breathed out her anxiety in a short breath. "I... I have to ask you if-- if you've been drinking."

"Yes, I've had your finest vintage of lukewarm water," he replied with a scraping edge of sarcasm. "You've been with me this whole time."

His evasive answer and deliberate obtuseness gave her all the answer she needed. Though she was afraid, she looked at him with sorrow. "It's going to get pretty bad, then. Care to give me any warning on just how bad, Mr. Stark?" There was no way exactly to predict how bad the alcohol withdrawals would be, but in his current condition, he was in no shape for even a mild case. Worry squirmed through her.

"Damn," he whispered, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, clenching his uninjured hand into a fist. "Damn it to hell."

"That bad?"

"Probably. If you have a doctor hiding somewhere, you might want to fetch them."

"Mr. Stark." She sat down on the floor, slightly lower than he was on the mattress. She sighed. "What I will say is the truth. You don't have to believe me, but I won't lie. I sometimes go weeks or months without seeing another human being, except for Rose. That is not the way I want it, it is my only choice because I could be killed or worse. I found you wounded, and was told you could die if I left you. All I have to deal with the next few days is five aspirin and an unstable water supply of possibly contaminated water. I don't know how you came to be in Afghanistan, or why; I don't know who harmed you, or why. If there's someone you can call to help you, nearly anyone on the planet would be a better option than me."

He watched her face during this small outburst, his brow furrowed in pain and concentration. "First thing tomorrow take me to the armor and it won't be your problem anymore." 

She smiled but it was a sad expression. "If only we could solve things so simply! Fly away from here like birds. But I cannot save you from facing what will come, Mr. Stark, any more than you could avoid it. It has followed you to my home. Rest now. After I finish dressing your wounds, I must go and try and clear the well so we have water, that I also cannot help. If for some reason," like, perhaps his enemies finding her, "I don't come back--" she pursed her lips, frowning deeply. "The nearest village is to the west of here, you must try and make your way there. I will most likely be back before you wake, I pray it will be so."

She turned back to her supplies and began splinting his wrist without making eye contact or speaking any further, choosing to concentrate on the task at hand. He fought through the confusion and fogginess of his hangover, dehydration, and concussion. "I'm sorry," he said regretfully after a moment. "You seem like a nice person. If you really are what you're presenting yourself to be, then thank you for helping me. If you're not... is there some kind of way I can buy your cooperation?"

"My cooperation is yours to command, Mr. Stark," she said with a touch of asperity. "But all I ask in return is a little of yours. Will you sleep now?"

"I will try."

"Can you handle a weapon, Mr. Stark?"

"What?"

"I can't leave you without some way to defend yourself! What if someone comes before I return? Without Reena or I to stop them?"

"What if that someone finds you?" He forced his mind to _focus,_ feeling a squirm of worry now that this woman was for real and in danger. "How many guns do you have?"

"Just one. It will have to do. I will have Reena. That will have to do. I don't know if you're a praying man, Mr. Stark, but if you are perhaps you should pray no one finds us."

"We might be better off if I didn't. Not sure where my standing would be," he mumbled, almost unable to keep his eyes open despite the pain and danger. 

"I hope you can remember if you need it that the gun will be here beside you in the drawer. Please don't kill me with it when I return." Tony made a sound of assent but was clearly half asleep. Aaiza clenched her jaw as she picked up the sleeping child. She would be a heavy weight to carry, but she had little choice. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens. -- Rumi

Aaiza was used to being afraid, she was used to being tired. Yet as she trudged quietly down the overgrown path toward the well, she felt as if a faultline had appeared in her carefully constructed world, one that might be the collapse of what she had strived to keep safe. Though surrounded by, perhaps, no more danger than usual and arguably slightly safer because she was not entirely alone, she felt her hard-wrought control being wrenched away from her grasp. There was very little she could do about it.

She made her way with Martha, who was now stubborn and sulky at being dragged out again at such a late hour. She dared not risk light; it would attract anyone in the vicinity for miles around, so she had to go slowly, feeling her way and seeing what she could by moon and starlight. They passed the rocky formation where Iron Man had fallen. She made sure any obvious signs of what happened were obscured, blotting out footprints with a broken piece of shrubbery, checking as best she could that the armor was not visible. She thought with some effort she might be able to drag the armor to her home, but discarded the idea. It was difficult and bulky to move, weighing more than she could lift onto Martha and dragging it would give anyone searching for them a clear indication of where they were. She moved a few rocks and broken bushes to obscure it as much as would appear natural. 

It was hot, heavy work while still wearing the sleeping toddler. Her back ached from the day's hard work and now the extra exertion, but she forced herself onward without pause. Luckily the well proved an easy fix; the outlet had merely been clogged by debris that had fallen in from the covering being knocked askew, probably during a storm or by an animal. After a little work with the shovel and replacing the lid more firmly, she could hear the water flowing and for the first time, she felt a small amount of relief. If she absolutely had to have something go right, it was this. Fearing both the darkness and the light it would take to overcome it, she leaned against Martha on the wearying trip back home.

...

Tony slept fitfully, pain breaking through the pulling anchor of exhausted sleep. 

He was jerked fully awake by the door being broken off its hinges as it was crashed open. Tony slammed up against the wall to get away from the men pouring into the room, forgetting the gun, forgetting everything in his surprised terror as machine guns were pointed at his face, the men yelling at him to put his hands up. Tony struggled to obey, his mind and his body at fearful odds, feeling as if his body were not in his control. His movements were sluggish, difficult, and he couldn't speak in his fear and the pain in his head from the sudden movement. 

A familiar figure followed behind the task force-- an imposing figure of metal and an eerie reddish light glowing from the eye slits-- Rhodey's armor, War Machine, but something seemed wrong. It was too dark. "Tony? Thank god."

"Rhodey?" Tony asked. Rhodey's faceplate retracted, and his best friend's face appeared, but it was not concerned or relieved, but cold, hard, unforgiving. Tony had reached out a hand for help up but Rhodey ignored it and Tony dropped his hand.

"Thank god I found you so I could get the armor. Where is it?" Rhodey continued.

Tony couldn't answer; it was as if his mouth were stuffed with cotton. "I was injured," he mumbled.

"I hope you don't expect me to care, Tony," Rhodey said, his voice hard as he looked around the room. "You destroyed my life. You deserve whatever happens to you, Tony. You deserve this. You deserved Siberia. You deserve worse." The SWAT team looked malevolent, inhumanly cruel and terrifying. Rhodey stepped toward him and dissolved into flaming spiders and Tony's breath came in repressed screams of horror as he tried desperately to brush off the swarming spiders.

"You brought this on yourself," a cold, familiar voice said. Tony looked up, shaking; Pepper, burning from within the unnatural and fiery orange of Extremis, emerged from the flames the spiders had caused. 

"No," he said fretfully. "No, Pepper."

"I need you... to leave," she responded as she leaned over him, the heat of her body burning him like an iron. He couldn't deny it, he couldn't defend himself against her words that pooled into a massive pain in his chest like molten lava.

"She's better off without you," one of the SWAT team said, pulling off his face mask. It was Steve Rogers, how had he missed it, he was wearing his old uniform. "We all are," he acknowledged.

"Pepper," he moaned. He was so hot, he looked down and his skin was melting like an Iron Man armor in the forge. "Pepper."

She sneered at him, and anything that he wanted to say strangled in his throat. She was on fire again, burning, burning and dying and there was no sorrow, no grief, no regret only hatred, rage, and endless, relentless, unforgiving blame.

...

"Pepper," Tony mumbled, delirious. "No."

He struggled weakly against the nightmare, his fever climbing dangerously high. She'd risked giving him one of the aspirin in an attempt to control it only to have him violently throw it up moments later, with most of the water he'd had to drink. She sat back, stretching her aching back, once again catching his hand as he flailed in his nightmare. His body was like a space heater in the small home; in the heat of the night, it felt like a sauna. She dipped a cloth into the water again, soaking his head, hoping against hope the fever would break soon.

Reluctantly, she went to the cupboard and pulled down a tincture of opium she'd made from the poppies she grew. Opium grew easily in the arid climate of Afghanistan, provided the Taliban allowed people to grow it-- they would often burn the fields and anyone in them unlucky enough to be caught. They had clashed violently against the Ten Rings who had forced many villages into slave labor to farm the flowers. Neither force had been a presence in the village for a long time, though, and Aaiza had learned years ago how to tend to the crop in order to supplement her income. She'd been able for a while to not have to sell the product, except to those sources she deemed safe-- people who used it for medicine instead of to addict people to heroin. This was all she had left of her own supply.

On one hand, it may calm him down and let him sleep; his bandage had already bled through with his movements. On the other hand, giving someone who is withdrawing from alcohol a narcotic was surely dangerous, especially when he was fevering and injured so badly.

She recapped the vial. For the moment, she would stay with him. If she could possibly hope to nurse him through the worst of it, perhaps he would be well enough tomorrow to drink and take the aspirin. 

She went back to the bed and pressed a cup to his lips, just small sips. He coughed but swallowed it, not opening his eyes. "Rhodey," he murmured.

"It's all right," she said softly, her voice low. "You are safe at the moment." He calmed at her voice but became agitated a moment later. Hesitantly, she spoke again, softly, in Dari. "It's all right now. You're safe. You are far from the people who hurt you, dear. Everyone here wants you to feel better." She continued to speak to him in a low, calm voice until his sleep deepened and his nightmares faded. She reinforced the bandage at his side and he moaned in his sleep.

It was getting near daybreak; the dawn would come in a few more hours, and there was finally a cool stillness settling over the quiet home. She debated, at this point, simply foregoing sleep, knowing it would be difficult to wake in so short a time but she gave into her weariness and curled up on a blanket beside the mattress, sleepiness making her eyes burn. She resisted falling asleep, first sitting back up and giving Tony another drink before she did, wanting to get as much water into him as she could and knowing it would likely be some time before she tried again. He burned with fever still, but not so badly; she thought it had gone down though it hadn't broke. The movement and drink seemed to wake him slightly; he opened his eyes, unseeing, then drifted off again, restless. She took his hot hand in hers and he stilled, and she fell asleep before she released his hand.

...

He drifted in utter darkness, comfortable. The deep heaviness of sleep pressed against him like a weighted blanket, and if there were a pressing need to wake up, it didn't penetrate the softened edges of his subconscious sleep. He heard the sound of birds-- he couldn't remember the last time he'd heard that, at least that he'd been aware of. He listened to the birds. The sounds of animals of some kind, now he could smell it too, not unpleasant but pungent and earthy and a firm voice consoling and cajoling. There was the sudden, cheery noise a child makes when happy and no, he couldn't remember hearing anything like it in recent memory, he's been busy, far too busy to make it to any of the orphanages or children's hospitals--

The sounds made him aware that there was a soft and pressing light against his closed eyelids and he contemplated opening them. Before the idle thought could become an action, he noticed then he was laying in a soft, slightly too warm but still comfortable bed. With that realization and the further returning consciousness, he became aware of pain again, aching, reminding, remaining, requisite and it of all things was at least familiar. He heard footsteps, the higher pitched voice people use to talk to babies but though he understood the words they were strange, something off, the sound of something cooking in a pan, the scrape of a spoon. All things that were familiar, recognizable, but utterly and bafflingly foreign. 

His eyelids proved heavier and more difficult to open than he'd anticipated. It took him a moment, it took him a few tries, stirring restlessly and trying to sit up. He heard quick footsteps come over to him and when he finally managed to open his eyes, the concerned clear blue eyes of a prettyish woman stared down at him. She leaned over and helped him sit up as he swung his legs over the side of the mattress, sending a throb of pain through his injured side.

"Careful," she murmured in Dari.

"Don't worry," he responded in English. "I'm always careful."

The woman froze. "You understand Dari?"

"Yes of course," he said, watching a blush creep up her neck and she covered her eyes with her hand. "I'm fluent in it." It was the first thing he did after Afghanistan once Obadiah was... after Obadiah. He'd picked some of it up as a prisoner and had vowed to learn it so he would never be in the dark as to what his enemies there were saying ever again. It was something he'd done to keep the helplessness and fear at bay while he tried to process his pain and trauma, and had come in handy many times over the years. 

"Well that's just wonderful," she muttered to herself, remembering the past two days where she spoke to him in Dari not supposing he would understand a word of it. She thought it might be nice to find a nice hole to crawl into. She looked at him through her fingers and he was smiling a little, pale, dark circled under his eyes, dry lips, but yes a small smile.

"Aaiza," he remembered her name now. How long ago had it been? How long had he been sleeping and hallucinating? The first moments of their introduction were a blur, through the haze of head injury, alcohol withdrawal, and hallucinations. He remembered an innocuous but frightening nonetheless moment when he'd thought that flowers were bursting out of her skin, bizarre but beautiful, fearful. He thought the dog was a monster, a shadow in the darkness. He shuddered.

"Can you eat?" She handed him a cup of something fragrant and brothy. His stomach growled with hunger and contracted with nausea in the same instant, but he forced himself to take a sip, so thirsty he could barely stand it. Afghanistan. Injuries. Thirst. His hands shook. The broth tasted so good, so good.

"Can you stand? I'd like to change the sheets. Here." She took the cup from him and set it on the table then sat beside him so he could put his arm around her to help him stand. He noticed that he grasped her shoulder right where the light touched her. She was surprisingly strong, much stronger than he was in his present state; he felt weak, lightheaded as they stood and he and limped carefully over to a chair at the table. The child, Rose, was across from him in the other chair, kneeling on the chair so she could reach the table. She watched him with unconcerned interest and a shy smile as she took a satisfying drink from a small red cup, setting the cup down with a large milk mustache gracing her face. He couldn't help but smile. 

He remembered now his paranoia that Aaiza was working for someone who wanted to harm him or use him. He glanced over at her, his stomach clenching again as he noticed the small bruises he'd given her around her wrist. A stab of anxiety coursed through him like an itch deep inside where he could never scratch; a part of him still doubted her intent, still thought that no one would just help him out of kindness or pity, there had to be an angle, but even if that were true it didn't matter, it didn't matter, he didn't deserve her help or comfort, didn't deserve for a child to smile at him, that was really the reason why he hadn't seen the orphans in so long. It wasn't that he was too busy, he'd just made himself too busy because he didn't think he deserved their adoration, didn't deserve their smiles or the staff's gratitude. 

He closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to see Aaiza or the child. He didn't deserve Aaiza helping him with his injuries, either. He deserved the pain and discomfort that came his way. He'd earned it with his selfishness, his drinking again.

It took a moment for him to process that it had gone quiet and he opened his eyes, breathing out the pain in his chest, his side, his head. Aaiza had leaned down, was watching him, the sunlight spilling across her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. "Dark places," she said in Dari, then again in English. "You have dark places, Mr. Stark. In your mind. In your heart. They call... what is it? They lure you. But you must not go there." Her eyes, bright and blue like a cloudless sky, seemed to peer into his soul. He did not like this and frowned at her.

"Excuse me?" He said, reaching to rub his injured wrist. 

"I'm sorry. Perhaps I spoke out of turn." She gave a pained laugh. "I feel like I know you very well, Mr. Stark. But we are after all virtual strangers. Try to drink some more. Here. Do you think you could eat?"

"N-no," he stuttered, feeling like a jerk for speaking to her that way after all her help and kindness but still not wanting to trust her. "I... I'm..." 

She had turned and was finishing making the bed. She brushed her hair behind her ear where it escaped her ponytail. He saw as she spread the last sheet over the mattress and smoothed it out that she was exhausted; he could read it in the small movements, the small sway of her head when she blinked, the uncomfortable lean of her shoulder as she raised it to stretch her back, the way she lifted her foot as if her feet ached. He tried to remember anything from the past however long he'd been here.

The nightmares. The fire, the spiders. Wait, that memory, that was something real-- her kneeling beside the bed, sponging off his forehead. Her soft voice apologizing when she woke him accidentally while checking the wound on his side. She had spoon fed him water, salty broth. He remembered a glimpse of her out the doorway, chasing a couple of chickens with some feed. Bouncing the child in her arms to get her to sleep, putting her on the couch. Tony glanced around; the woman had made herself a small bed on the hard floor by the couch. She slept on the floor. This woman who had so little, only a few aspirins, had given him her bed. He blinked away sudden tears, tried to swallow a hard, terrible lump in his throat. This woman had helped and protected him for days, and he'd returned her compassion and kindness with mistrust and fear.

He pushed himself to stand and she turned nearly bumping into him and instantly reached out to steady _him._ That automatic gesture broke his heart, and a fissure appeared in the wall that he'd so carefully built since Siberia, since the "break" with Pepper.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice anguished. His heart was incredibly tender and broken and to his intense embarrassment and horror, the tears he'd been fighting poured down his cheeks. "I'm sorry."

Aaiza, startled, searched his face, her own awkwardness and disappointment disappearing as she saw his pain and regret and misery. "Oh, Mr. Stark, it's all right!" Although she was small and thin, and though she had very little, a tremendous thing available to her was to forgive him instantly and completely, which she did, which only made him more emotional, and her strong arms wrapped around him and hugged him without too much pressure to hurt him. Pepper and Rhodey were the only ones who ever hugged him (not counting Peter Benjamin Parker who was just a dork) and neither one of them had embraced him in a long time now. He couldn't help but lean into her, touch-starved and broken. Aaiza murmured soothingly, slipping back into Dari, assisting him back to sit down and just let the poor man have a good cry.

It appeared once the tears started, he was finding it difficult to control them, and for once he barely even tried. The dog came over, concerned, but Aaiza pushed her away and rubbed Tony's back in small circles. 

The tears bled from him as the weight of his shattered hopes and failures pressed upon him no less fiercely and piercingly than a certain shield once had. It was like a lanced wound, though; as he cried, the pressure of it lessened, the pain of it eased. He felt Aaiza's arms around him and a soft thing was uncovered in his heart where all the pain and fear had kept it buried, a thing that had no name or purpose but it came to him as a desire to protect her and save her from her small and lonely world. While she safeguarded him through his own broken and wounded time, he already was thinking of how he could change her life and make her happy and comfortable.

He only cried a little while, like a microburst storm, but it pushed him beyond exhaustion. His head pounded with a terrible headache again and Aaiza pressed a washcloth to his neck and he washed his face. She coaxed him into drinking a bit more and showed him to the bathroom to clean up a bit and change his sweaty clothes. She checked and redressed his injuries and helped him back to bed.

"I'll make it up to you," he said drowsily and fell asleep without processing her reply.

"You'll forget all about us, Mr. Stark. At least, I hope you will."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know you are tired, but come, this is the way. -Rumi

Anthony Edward Stark sat on the small step of the home he'd been made welcome and watched the sun set over the lonely and desolate land. Even with Aaiza's thriving oasis, it was a desperate place to be, covered with the golden light of the dying day. His thoughts were low and dim despite the fact that he'd once again found a way out of a lethal situation. He closed his eyes against the beautiful landscape, feeling the ache in his bones, his body, his heart. He couldn't help but think of how--

He'd died. He'd died before.

It was a clear memory he had of his mother. Her telling him, while holding him so tight, about when he was born with the cord around his neck. She'd waited and waited for a cry that never came-- they took him away to the nursery, took him away from her while they tried to breathe life into him, tried to make his heart beat and eventually, after 17 minutes, winning the day. Howard hated it when Tony cried as a child, he never allowed it. But Maria never minded. Told him it was all right to cry.

After that first incident, he'd been fine right up until good-ol' Afghanistan, and there was no question that he had a run of bad luck about it. He died three times in relatively quick succession. 

The first time, a nice clean death from a rapid loss of blood that made his heart fail. He'd watched the soldiers die, poor kids-- then the next instant, it was his turn and shrapnel tore through his kevlar, his skin, his connective tissue, his bones, his vessels. He felt it. Wasn't pleasant. It didn't exactly hurt, either; it was too quick, too deep. He felt the impacts like rocks being thrown, like an itch, then it stung. He'd looked down and some part of his dazed and injured brain realized he was in deep trouble, and he... he just laid there. Stunned, his ears ringing, and all he could do was just... wait. Wait to see if he'd survive, to see what would flash through his mind, but there were no images from his life, no tunnel with light. He didn't see anything, actually, just the world turning gray. But he did hear something... Pepper, screaming his name. He thought it might be the last thought he'd ever have and it didn't even make sense. For 13 minutes, he had hovered in whatever space the soul occupied when the body wasn't strong enough to hold on to life but there were interventions in place to keep it from leaving. Then they'd gotten back to the caves and Yinsen had taken over and some terrorist thug had been the blood type that could donate to anyone, coincidentally enough, buying him just enough time for Ho Yinsen to save his heart. That same shmuck had tried to shoot him while he was wearing the Mark 1 suit and ended up accidentally killing himself. The man was an idiot and a murderer, and most of the time Tony didn't give him a second thought. In a few odd moments, however, he felt a tightness in his chest for the moronic sap that he owed his life to that ended up with his own bullet in his brain.

He didn't always count the second time, when he was counting, but technically... Yinsen had stopped his heart, briefly (2 minutes, 37 seconds), on purpose, in order to place the electromagnet that was actually saving his life. It was sloppy; Yinsen was a surgeon and a linguist, but no doctor in the world had attempted what he had and he was not a cardiologist-- the whole thing was finagled to save his life as quickly as he could. It was a bit touch and go, a bit of an incident, from what Yinsen told him later, where he'd had to get fancy with the epinephrine and defibrillate his heart since he couldn't do chest compressions with the shrapnel so close to his heart. It made Yinsen sweat, no doubt, but Tony himself had been unconscious for it and it didn't bother him much.

(He wondered, more than once, why Yinsen tried so hard, surrounded as he was by the weapons that Tony made and that he'd seen kill hundreds of innocent people. Including Yinsen's family. He certainly hadn't seemed sorry, at first, for Tony's distress when he woke up, observed his panic with near indifference. Perhaps he'd let him live to make him suffer; it crossed his mind during those first freezing, painful nights when he was still learning how to breathe. But nothing after that indicated it was anything but a good faith effort to save his life-- he could have just let him die and he didn't. He'd saved him. If he wanted to punish him, if he blamed Tony, which he never said he did, instead of pushing him he pulled him closer, trusted him, made himself trustworthy for Tony.)

(Maybe that was a punishment in itself. It still hurt, remembering that moment when his mentor for the past three months had just... died. Part of his dying words _this was always the plan._ If he was planning on his own death the whole time, why the _hell_ had he saved Tony? If not to save himself. He'd assumed the goading, the speeches about legacy, it was to nudge him into getting them both out of there, to save himself. Wrong, though; wrong. _This was always the plan._ There was only one conclusion Tony could ever reach about it, as incredulous as it seemed. Literally surrounded by a mountain of evidence to the contrary, Yinsen saved Tony because he thought there was something in him worth saving. Just as easily and perhaps more justifiably he could have let Tony die, one less Merchant of Death to supply terrorists with inventive ways of exploding people. What it was that Yinsen saw in Tony he never shared; he might have, if he hadn't bled out so fast.)

Next the little incident with the waterboarding. To be fair, they hadn't been trying to kill him that time, just make him mostly suffocated so he would do what they asked but they hadn't realized the fragility of his physical state and that was a long eight minutes until Yinsen brought him back again. A long 8 minutes for all of them, especially the thugs of the Ten Rings who were only suppose to torture, not kill him, and certainly would have been killed themselves if Yinsen hadn't saved him again. He'd felt every minute of that one; the heavy panic of suffocation, the burning pain of his chest on fire, then finally nothing but the blackness and panic and water and pain. That had probably been the worst of the three. But in that moment of dying, a burst of light-- the idea for the arc reactor. It was his last thought and his first thought when he woke up with a tube down his nose for the second time.

There'd been plenty of close shaves after that, no doubt. Maybe more than a shave, if he was being strictly honest, which he rarely was; even with himself. When Obie ripped the arc reactor out of his chest and left him to die, his heart never stopped entirely but the shrapnel did their oh-so-endearing-thing, that is, sending his heart into an arrhythmia and while it didn't technically stop, that 4 minutes after he got the original core in (such a joy-- minimal blood flow to the brain and hands too big to get it in correctly) was not exactly a relaxing power nap. Then Rhody woke him up and all he could think of was Pepper and he had to get up and fight the bastard.

Then the thing with the whole arc reactor exploding with, well, explosive force to take down Iron Monger, and what with the chest piece completely shorting out... well. That had been a long 23 minutes. He had Coulson to thank that time; the man knew CPR, not to mention that he had some SHIELD tech that Fury had eventually confessed they developed after hacking Tony's medical records. A stop-gap measure to keep his heart beating in an emergency. It had pissed him off a little bit; that was exactly the reason he'd refused to go to the doctor. Freaking SHIELD, taking advantage of his distraction and finding the files before he had strengthened the firewall, but it had saved him, hadn't it? Long enough, anyway, for the SHIELD agents to get to Obadiah's... body. And pry the arc reactor from the suit, get it back to him. Thank heaven it hadn't been incinerated with the blast. Thank heaven Pepper knew how to trade it out or he would have been Iron Man for exactly 72 minutes, 23 of them without a beating heart. An ignominious end, maybe, from what he'd promised Yinsen. But it hadn't ended there.

He'd had those few months of slowly dying when he was trying to find the palladium replacement. Not his finest moments, probably, and the long staring contest with death had not done any wonders for his already spasming psyche. He still remembered pieces of that time, how Pepper and Rhodey had looked at him; all it ever did was make him need a drink. That time had been somewhat annoying for another reason; his chest piece constantly hurting, inflamed, irritated. The palladium had made the actual casing and reactor a constant pain and irritation. It had spread through his chest and neck to the point each breath was a chore. He owed Fury on that for pointing him in the right direction. He didn't forget Coulson, either, watching over him, and despite protests to the contrary did quietly keep a steady stream of coffee coming, and at times insisted Tony take a break for food and sleep. Tony let him, too.

He wasn't forgetting the other thing, as much as he tried to fry enough brain cells with alcohol that he could... what Rhodey referred to as The Incident. The wormhole. New York. That counted, no one was debating that. JARVIS had been pretty vague on the details on that one; he'd been offline, as unable to explain the sudden rejuvenation as Tony was. With the suit powered down, it was only a rough estimate, but his heart had probably stopped beating for close to 2 minutes. And he wouldn't have survived the fall, obviously, if Hulk hadn't caught him. (Rhodey was all the proof he needed of that.)

He wasn't afraid of facing death for a greater good; he never even hesitated. But it _had_ been different that time, it might have had something to do with stepping up to meet it instead of having it thrust upon him-- he could have avoided it entirely, this time. But since that moment he fell, it seemed like he was in a valley of shadows and couldn't seem to work his way free of it-- he'd never been able to do a proper job of getting over it like everyone else. No one else seemed to have any problem whatsoever and any time he happened to bring it up he noticed the eye rolls, the patient expression, the measured sighs, as if Tony were a child afraid of monsters in his closet. It was embarrassing.

Tony hated feeling embarrassed.

And his sacrifice and efforts had not been as effective as he hoped. The aliens were gone, but the threat remained. The darkness; remained. And people still needed saved all the time from other things and all he ever got in return for the fight was a giant headache.

Were there times he thought about giving up the whole damn business of being Iron Man, who was and really is Tony Stark? Well, yeah, actually; he'd more than thought about it. Hence the drinking himself into oblivion. It was as close to an escape from it that he could make. But it never stuck. A bee in his bonnet, so to speak, he never could escape the conclusion he came to after his life was spared that first time. And not to mention the heavy burden, the cost... Yinsen's life, then others... He was spared... more than once... for a reason.

Maybe he'd just been, you know, catastrophically wrong, about what that reason was. All this time. And maybe he was to the point, finally, where he either has paid his debt to Yinsen or just ready to admit he never could.

He shivered and realized that it had grown dark.

A warm light fell across his shoulders and he turned. Aaiza was carrying a light for him. "Rose is asleep, Mr. Stark. Can I help you inside now?" 

He loved and hated her a moment; loved her for her kindness, hated her for seeing his vulnerability and need for it. His hands were still shaking from the alcohol withdrawals, and without her constant attention the past few days he surely would have died. The poor woman looked tired to the bone; work on the small farm didn't stop for unexpected house guests, and of course the child needed her as much more than Tony did. Tony hated her a little bit for not complaining, for not seeming resentful, for not giving in to the impulses she must feel to berate him or at least be irritated with him for the danger he put them in. Most of all he hated being forced to trust her.

"Any news?" He asked anxiously as she helped him stand up.

There was an old wind-up radio that she'd gotten out, wondering if anyone was looking for Tony Stark in Afghanistan. Reception was terrible; most of the time even if she could find a signal it was difficult to make anything out. But they had managed with some tin-foil and ingenuity to find a spot on in the house with the antenna bent a certain way to get the news station, as long as there wasn't any interference. She'd been listening to it while she put Rose to bed. 

"Nothing. Not that you're missing, not that anyone is searching for you. I don't know if it's good news or bad." For her, it was certainly good news, though she didn't say as much. He looked at her when she gripped him tightly in response to her anxious thoughts of anyone searching for him or finding them, and she gave him an apologetic face. "I guess no one knows you are here?" She asked tentatively.

Tony's eyes closed briefly. "No, I guess not." He hadn't told anyone, actually, where he was going. "It was kind of a... it was not really on the itinerary for me to be here. The armor wasn't working well, I was trying to fix it but I guess a few of its systems were still not working or they would have tracked it by now." He didn't like how closely she was watching his face, a small furrow on her brow.

Still utterly weak from blood loss, trauma, and withdrawals, she had to help him sit down. Even in his current state, his throat burned, his body ached with the desire for a drink of alcohol, irritating him almost as much and incessantly as the buzzing of flies from all the animals.

"Aaiza," he said, as much to distract himself as anything, only to regret her attention a moment later as her pale blue eyes again found his face and he remembered how much he disliked this woman's undivided attention for some reason. "I wanted to tell you thank you for helping me. And that I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you. I'm not... I'm not proud of myself. I want you to know I'm not... I haven't always been like this."

"I know. Everyone knows," she responded gently. She couldn't bring herself to judge the man harshly. She looked within herself to see what she felt-- not condemnation which he thought he deserved. If he was privileged and rich and had the world at his fingertips, from what she knew he only used it to bring that world within other's grasp. She's seen others benefit from his foundations, had seen schools built. The entire world had benefited from his sacrifice in New York with the nuclear weapon. No. She didn't resent him. She didn't even pity him. She thought she might feel understanding and maybe compassion, but she had not been with others in so long, she did not know how accurate the description was.

"It's okay. It really is. I had a brother--" she stopped herself, a haunted pain coming into her eyes. "I understand," she said and moved as if to get up. Always there was so much for her to do, but it was the first glimpse of herself that she's shown and Tony surprised himself by wanting, badly wanting, to know more about this mysterious woman in the middle of nowhere Afghanistan.

"What's your story, Aaiza? You're, what? American? How'd you end up here, alone, with a small child? You don't have to answer," he said quickly when he saw anxiety appear on her face. "You don't owe me anything. I know we're strangers--"

"It's not that," she murmured, pressing her wrist to her temple to wipe away sweat. A part of her knew she should not tell him _anything--_ it was only increasing the danger for them both, but mostly for Rose.

Yet.

Yet she'd been alone for so long. Years stretched out behind her, empty of human companionship. There were only four people who even knew of her existence; Rose was one of them. The other three knew just enough that they kept it quiet for their own safety. They were nomadic and they settled nearby only sporadically but they were as close to a family and friends as she had. She had never known the horror of dying, though she'd come close. Instead, she felt that her life was one long and uninterrupted entombment, a wide and open grave that no one ever came to visit. Until she had Rose, she knew that her death, eventual as it may be, would go unnoted, unwept. It would likely be weeks to months if ever that her body would be discovered and the biggest tragedy would be that the animals would have no one to care for them. No one alive knew her story, and for once, maybe just for once, she thought it might be pleasant to speak with another adult and let them know her mind.

Only, she was afraid.

"I'm from California," she told him, not allowing the least tremble in her voice to betray her fear. "A small town there. Grover Beach? It's in Northern California."

"How? Did you end up here?" He asked, bewildered.

"My husband's work brought us here. But then he died, and I was alone. I didn't know how to get back to America without him, without..." She looked at him, her blue eyes bright with an old and tired sadness, one that had broken her heart for so long she didn't remember what it felt like before, anymore. 

"What?" He asked, intrigued. 

"I tried to go home but it was too hard. So I made my home here and I've been here since."

"How long?"

"Eight... eight years."

Tony frowned. Something wasn't adding up about her story, she was clearly not telling him everything, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Aaiza--" But he had no right to press her and he knew it. "Listen kid if I can help you, I will. You want to tell me about it? What about the kid?"

"Rose?" The word came out afraid, dangerous ground somehow.

"Your husband died eight years ago and she's probably not even three," he commented. "We don't have to talk about it if it's sensitive."

"No! It's not! I mean... the nomads. They brought her to me. She was orphaned and they were..." He could see she was upset, distressed; for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. "They were going to take her to the village. But then, I was taking care of her and... and she's mine now, she stays with me. For the past year, she's... We're family now."

"Okay," he said cautiously. "So, what? You looking to get out of this place? Get back to Grover Beach?"

"I don't even... my family is dead Mr. Stark. I have no money, no home there. I haven't spoken English for nearly ten years. I've been out of school longer than that! I wouldn't... I wouldn't even begin to know how to, to _function._ There are, there are _dangers_ \--" but she cut off, clenching her jaw. 

"Hey. Hey, okay, I get it. Aaiza." She opened her eyes, troubled and tear-filled. "You in some kind of trouble? Huh? Are you? Let me help you." He was astonished, though he didn't show it, that she hadn't realized or assumed that he would take care of her, financially and any other way she needed. She seemed completely oblivious to the idea. 

"That... you don't need to. It will be safest if no one knows I'm here." She had been afraid of this; there would be no way to keep herself private and safe, not if Iron Man or Tony Stark had anything to do with her. The truth was, she had been on her own so long that the only thing that crossed her mind in relation to Tony helping her out of her situation was that it could not be done in secrecy and it would be an unwarranted risk.

"Come on. _Come on._ You can't mean that. You can't really be safer out here, like this? What if something happens, huh?" He had hit upon her one weak spot, pressing his thumb on her wound as it were.

"Mr. Stark why did you come here?" She asked suddenly, and to his surprise she was crying. He had found her to be a woman of incredible and quiet strength and he had seen her endure a lot the past several days without complaint. Her tears shook him a bit and he reached out instinctively before dropping his hands. "What are you doing here?" She insisted.

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"You do. You came here with a purpose. What was it?"

"I was being stupid."

"Please. Please tell me, it's important!"

"I don't know," he said in a low voice. "I'm sorry, Aaiza, I really am. I was drunk. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Your suit. The armor." He looked up at her, pale now with the intensity of their discussion. "The broken armor."

"What about it?"

She didn't answer for a long few moments. "Nothing."

An entire lifetime of pain, of death, of trauma was between them; a gulf her compassion and kindness could not cross, not with how broken she was. A gulf his brilliance and protective nature and desire to help couldn't cross; not with how broken he was. They had each been too traumatized, too injured to believe in fate or destiny. She stood on the precipice of her fear, gazing down on eight years of silence and utter independence, and for Rose she might have overcome it at a chance to escape her solitary confinement. But when she looked down at his face, so vulnerable with suffering, she knew that he, too, had burdens, had fears and wounds and scars, and she thought maybe later, maybe another time, but she could not add to his emotional burden, she couldn't.

She offered him safe things, because he asked. "My mother died in a car accident a few years after my father died of cancer," she told him. She didn't even have a picture to remember them by. She gave him food; simple and nutritious, as he could barely tolerate anything yet. She started cleaning up a bit but he took her wrist, asking her to sit down with him, tell him the story.

"It was a long time ago. My parents had me late in their lives, and I was only seventeen when they died."

"You don't say," he murmured. "But you had, what, a brother? Aunts and uncles, something?"

"My brother was not in contact with me. He didn't come to their funerals. The alcohol, the drugs... I think he was ashamed. The last time I saw him before he died, I didn't even recognize him. My high school counselor helped me register for college because I didn't know what to do, I didn't even know how to use a computer. He helped me and I went to a small community college in Pasadena. My family was not wealthy, but I thought there would be enough to get me through school to become a nurse."

"A nurse, huh?"

"I think because of my brother. He was sick and I could never help him. I got my associates degree and began working. I was twenty years old, a mere child! It seems to me now. But of course at the time, I didn't know any different. I worked in the ER there. It's where I met my husband."

"Was he a patient or something?"

"No... his father was a doctor. They were visiting the UC Davis Hospital where I was working, providing an in-service to some of the physicians."

"Prestigious hospital," Tony commented. "Impressive."

"It was, but I didn't know it. I didn't know anything. I met Yusef in line at the cafeteria on a night shift." She glanced at him. "He liked the food there and it was open late." She smiled and Tony's heart broke. She'd offered him small smiles before, but they were all for his benefit. This, this was something real and he felt almost like he was seeing _her_ for the first time.

"Weren't you a little on the young side?" He asked suspiciously.

"I suppose I was. But his parent's took me in right away, his father was good to me. His mother--" she cut off for a moment, drawing a quick deep breath as if against pain. When she spoke, her hands folded in her lap, her voice was quiet. "His mother was kind." She closed her eyes briefly. "It is like... they are haunting me right now. As if they are watching me, seeing what I've become."

"Looks like they did all right," Tony murmured. She shook her head slightly. 

"Anyway, it was a long, long time ago." She pressed the back of her hand to her nose, sniffing. A large tear dropped before she could stifle it. "We came here during a difficult time. Yusef was born here in Afghanistan and they wanted to help people here, medical care. My husband was a brilliant biologist and linguist. They were trying to help during the civil wars, but."

"What happened?" Tony asked, afraid to ask.

"We lost everything in the bombings-- Yusef's younger brother and mother were killed... We moved to a smaller village to recuperate, but--" She stopped. Tony wanted to press her for the details of the story, but she was clearly reluctant, looking at him earnestly, her eyes sad and troubled "But then I was alone, but safe here."

"Tell me. Tell me what happened."

She leaned over, her intensely blue eyes sad, intent, searching. "What are you doing in Afghanistan, Mr. Stark?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What hurts you blesses you. Darkness is your candle. -Rumi

"There must be a reason," she said, her voice soft as candlelight. She didn't know, herself, why the answer was so important, she only felt that it was.

He studied her face, trying to figure out why she wouldn't answer his questions until he answered that particular one. He found it discomfiting to have her scrutiny, her face so close to his. He hadn't found it particularly pretty when he first saw her, but now he wondered how sick he must have been to not see how truly lovely she was. It might be the freckles-- they reminded him of Pepper. She was still just a kid, maybe only in her late 20s or early 30s. But her soul had some miles on it. He didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't want to trust her even though he believed he could. He just. Didn't want to. He winced, once again feeling guilt surge in his chest, making him feel forced to do things he had no inclination or desire to do.

"I was flying back to New York from Gujarat. Accords stuff, their government asked for help on a... anyway, that's not important, it was fine, that went fine. But you know, I am known for... fixing things. I used to. Fix things. Called myself the Mechanic. There's been a problem with one of my armors, and I would normally just recycle them but..." he hesitated.

"Please tell me."

"This one I wanted to fix. It was broken pretty bad, but I thought I had it worked out. I thought it would be a good idea to take it for a test drive."

"To Afghanistan."

"I was in the neighborhood." He shrugged, his snark making her smile a little bit. He sighed. 

"There was a... little bit of a dustup between this guy, Steve Rogers and me. I don't know, you might have heard about it." He looked to her for confirmation but she shook her head. There was some vague memory of such things being discussed months ago, but she rarely used the radio and couldn't follow things closely. "Okay, well... this guy, Steve Rogers, he's or he was Captain America, big hero right? One of the Avengers?"

"Oh, yes, Captain America. I know of him. New York and Sokovia, he helped fight Loki and Ultron."

"Yeah, that's right. Anyway. I guess he never liked me much." He again looked to her to gauge her reaction to the information-- surprise, understanding, pity. She just looked sad, but she often did, he'd noticed. "Well. I spent some time trying to blow him off, spent some time trying to earn his trust and respect. It kind of grated on me, too, you know? Because I'd been through the same kind of thing as a kid. My dad never approved of me, never liked me much. Crazy about Captain America, though, and I don't know, maybe there was some part of me that thought if I could impress Steve, maybe it would have impressed my old man, too. Wasn't ever very successful at it, but I thought we might have reached a mutual non-antagonistic agreement after Ultron, at least.

"Then this whole thing with the Accords happened. Okay? There was an international law created, that we had to agree to or retire. Rogers was against it, and I thought it was a good idea and I don't know why but I thought I could bring him around, thought he'd have my back, I'd have his. I could not have been... more fundamentally incorrect on that. I did have his back, I broke the damn law to go after him to help him, but he never intended to have my back. The whole damn time I was trying to earn _his_ trust, he was stabbing me in the back.

"Yeah." He dragged out the word with a reluctant sigh, pressing a hand across his chest. "Turns out... I guess all along my trust in _him_ was the thing that was misplaced. Got to admit... it... it did some damage." He glanced at her, his brown eyes filled with anguish and embarrassment and disgust with himself. He wasn't sure why she needed this from him, he hated it, but... but another part of him was glad to get it off his chest. He didn't have Pepper and he didn't want to burden Rhodey too much so he basically had blown the whole thing off to him. FRIDAY was the only one who knew the whole story. 

He explained to her about James Barnes as the Winter Soldier and how Rogers kept his parent's murder a secret from him. "It felt like Obidiah, my mentor, all over again. It felt like I'd been used, a false sense of love and loyalty. It was like my dad. Understand? It was like he was my dad, never being good enough, never even being close. I'm such an idiot."

She wanted to push him; he hadn't answered her questions-- why that armor, why Afghanistan. But though she stirred restlessly, she didn't interrupt him. "So," Tony continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I find out Rogers has been keeping this from me, find out his buddy killed my dad, killed my mom, and when I turn to the guy and he raises his gun on me and I'm already pissed and Rogers... Yeah, he just starts fighting me. You know. To protect him. I guess between the two of them they had the better of me."

"Wait... he? He fought you? As in... he hit you?" She was having trouble understanding how someone could physically harm someone who they had just emotionally vivisected unless they were a very malicious person, not typically how Captain America was portrayed, even in places he had fallen out of favor like Afghanistan.

"Yeah," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I've been in some pretty good fights, but that one took the cake."

"I still don't understand what that has to do with Afghanistan," she prodded cautiously, noting that he had begun to look tired again, flushed. It was the longest he'd been up and he surely needed rest.

"I'm getting to it," and he gave her a charming grin, the one he used to get out of trouble and it nearly always worked and she couldn't help but return-- something warm and soft in contrast to the hardness of the story he was telling. "The thing was, he used the shield, right? The one my dear ol' dad made. He used it to incapacitate me by crushing the arc reactor." He tapped his chest where the arc reactor rested when he wore the suit and she frowned. 

"Were you badly injured?" 

"No," he shrugged, then hesitated. "The suit took the brunt of it. Out of the armor I would have died from blunt trauma fifty times, but it can withstand a lot of punishment so no I wasn't that injured, not comparatively. I was injured, but I was lucky; it could have been much, much worse. The force it took to destroy the arc reactor, though, that's the most reinforced spot on the suit and it took a good amount of strength. Even knowing as much as I do, I wouldn't have thought it possible. But. He was mad. Or. Something, I don't know. Whatever it was, it motivated him and it did cause some issues. Clocked me pretty good, head and chest, and there were a few cold hours spent in the weather so I had a little bit of exposure to deal with."

"You make it sound so easy," she said skeptically, sensing that he was still underplaying his pain, his grief, his brokenness following Siberia.

"Well, I've had some time to heal from it. At the time, I assure you, I wasn't a happy Siberian camper." He crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them, closing his eyes. "Kind of a sensitive spot to go for, too. I guess maybe... it reminded me of Obadiah again." He shook his head, burying his head in his arms a little, wincing at the memory but keeping his eyes closed. His brow furrowed. "Steve betrayed me the way Obadiah did." 

"Obadiah," she echoed, testing the name out.

"Obadiah was a father to me after my dad died. But he was the one who set me up here for the Ten Rings to kill. They decided in their infinite wisdom to kidnap me and make me build a weapon for them. There was this man there, in the cave with me. Ho Yinsen. He put the electromagnet in my chest and saved my life. When Rogers broke the arc reactor and walked out, there was some downtime, plenty of time to contemplate my life, the choices I've made. For some reason, I kept thinking of him."

Aaiza was still, gripping the washcloth she had picked up with white knuckles.

Tony sat back in the chair, his hair sticking up in soft curls, his cheeks flushed, his body limp and tired after sitting up for so long. He closed his eyes again, lost in memory. "He sacrificed his life for me," he murmured, his words slightly garbled with sleepiness. "He said he was going to be with his family and it was always his plan. Aaiza, I thanked him for saving my life. He told me _don't waste it._ " For a moment neither of them spoke, and she watched the rise and fall of his breathing, her heart pounding painfully.

"I let him down, probably." His voice broke on the words and he cleared his throat, a soft sound, his eyes closed. "In Siberia, it was hard not to feel like... I had wasted the chance he gave me. Failed where it mattered the very most-- Pepper, the Avengers. I could have been a bigger person. Steve burned the bridge but I made sure I was standing on it when he did, now the world is vulnerable, because of me." His brow creased, the only outward indication of how much the words hurt him to say, the only indication of the pain in his body from his wounds and illness. "I guess all that was just to tell you... I wanted to fix the suit. Just to see something... heal. I wanted the Mark 46 to..." he dropped his hand against his leg. "I wanted it to not be so hopelessly broken. I thought I had it mostly fixed, so I wanted to test it out, so I flew it here. I wasn't being careful, I didn't know I needed to be, I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have been drinking. All the suits are equipped to... not... work... if I'm drunk, after.... anyway," he finished hurriedly. "I guess that was one of the things that was still not working right, or I overrode it, it, it doesn't matter, it was my own weakness and failure. I'd have to see the armor, I can't remember a damn thing until I woke up here."

"So... you were just testing out the suit?" She prompted gently, glad he could not see her tears. She was not in the habit of controlling her tears; except for the animals and Rose, there was no one to see them anyway. 

"No! I mean, I was. But I came here because I had some idiotic idea that I needed to find Yinsen's grave, if he had one. In my defense, I was pretty drunk," he said quickly, misreading the expression on her face. "I know, I know it's been years, it was dumb, I knew it was a long shot. But I didn't care. I want to fix the suit and I wanted to make sure he had a burial. It made more sense in my head."

A long silence stretched between them, where Tony fought against his exhaustion and emotional turmoil and Aaiza... Aaiza didn't move or speak, only she had turned her head and was watching Rose sleep. "You came here to find Yinsen's grave," she repeated.

"Yeah," Tony whispered, beyond tired. "Yeah, I did. I thought... of my beginnings as Iron Man. And how it might end. And I wanted--"

He didn't finish, and she didn't expect him to. She doubted he even knew what he was hoping to gain from coming back here.

"I know you are tired," she said. "But, if I help you, will you walk with me? Not far."

"I don't... Where are we going?"

"I will show you. You can lean on me, Tony."

His curiosity overcame his weariness and she leaned down as he put his arms around her neck so she could help him to stand. Carefully they walked outside, Tony limping due to his injured side. Aaiza called the dog to lay by Rose as she slept; Reena would alert Aaiza if the child awoke. 

The sunlight had faded, and darkness was growing. It was the long twilight of summer, heavy with the in-between of transition, of change, of ending and beginning. The end of the day, the beginning of the night, where it was quiet, it was still. The walked out past the garden, past the animals, past the small grove of fruit trees. Stretched out before them-- the desert, still hot, still releasing the heat of the day it had captured from the sun, but Tony felt cold. Aaiza led him to a tree; not one of the fruit ones, but an old, wizened tree, he thought maybe some kind of yew. 

"It's beautiful. Isn't it? The tree."

"It is," he agreed.

"One time, a few years ago, a storm damaged it, can you see?" Looking more carefully, Tony noticed where branches were missing. He nodded.

"I thought that the damage would be too great, perhaps, and the tree might die. This tree and I have been companions for a long time, and I was afraid. You know, I tried to fix what I could. But Tony, some things cannot be fixed. Some things must heal, you know."

He thought about what she said, his chest moving with the deep breaths he took to steady his emotions. "I know," he said, his voice hoarse. 

"Coming here... it can't change the past. With Steve Rogers. With Yinsen."

"Yeah," he said so softly she almost didn't catch it. "Maybe I wasn't trying to change it. It was... after Yinsen, everything was so clear to me. Have you ever known something was right in your heart?" He glanced at her and she didn't answer, her eyes bright and sad. "I did, then. I knew what was right, knew what I needed to do. I don't think anything has been clear for a while, maybe not since before Ultron, maybe not since New York. I don't know what's right. I don't know what to do." She moved from beside him and stood face to face with him, looking up into his eyes, searching. "It was stupid," he told her.

"No... no, it wasn't stupid. It was, I think, very brave of you. But bravery alone will not make an impossible task possible. You can't fix everything. You should perhaps remember you can't save everyone."

"I remember that I have to try."

She sighed and took his wrist to lead him a few more steps past the tree, then helped him to sit beneath it. Stars had begun to appear; the sky had gotten dark, going from a lavender to gray to dark blue. She sat down beside him and gestured. "Do you recognize this?"

"No."

"We're six miles south of Gulmira."

"What?" He sat up, more alert. "We are?"

"Yes."

"I must have programmed the armor to take me here." He was vaguely remembering. "It was the first place I came when I built the mark 3. I came to--"

"Destroy the weapons, I know. Everyone here knows. We remember. The Ten Rings, the insurgents, they remember. They still leave the village alone, in case you come back. The road is very dangerous, still, though."

Something in her voice made him turn his head, and he could not say what he saw in her eyes then-- he thought it looked like she was afraid, but she did not seem anxious. She was crying quietly, with only occasional tears she wiped away absently, sniffing quietly. "You found what you were looking for, Mr. Stark. You are to be congratulated."

"What?"

"Over there. Beneath this tree. Ho Yinsen was buried here."

His hand shot out and grasped her shoulder. "What did you just say?" 

His grip was tight, almost painful, but she felt an old wound opening within her and the pain from his grasp is not what made her cry. "Ho Yinsen. Yusef Yinsen's father."

"No! That's... that can't be. He told me his family was dead!"

"I"m sure he thought so. He did not know that I survived when his son was executed."

"Executed... his _son_ was executed? Wait. Just. Just a second." Aaiza waited. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her grief and loss settling miserably in her chest. She was hurt now; she was bleeding as if from a wound in the palm. She turned her head to listen for Rose.

"You're Ho Yinsen... _my_ Ho Yinsen... his daughter-in-law?"

"Small world," she whispered, turning back to him now, her blue eyes calm and sad and crying and the pain of them caught him. In his stunned state, he reached over and took her shoulders, staring into her face. He didn't believe her. He didn't. Ho Yinsen said his family was dead, he wouldn't just say that. He wouldn't have just left someone out here alone, forgotten, abandoned--

"Tell me!" He demanded. "Explain. Now, please." She let her head fall back, her eyes closing briefly, tired; aching. She could feel how hot his hands were-- burning with fever. 

"The Yinsens were political dissidents. They fought the government's corruption by the Ten Rings. Ho used his influence as a doctor to change policy, policies the Ten Rings did not like. They also needed a doctor, a linguist, and Ho was both. His wife..." a sudden and unexpected sob tore from her throat and she looked away without fighting his grasp, pressing the back of her wrist to her mouth. "His wife and youngest son were killed in the Gulmira bombings."

"He had a young son?"

"Basil; he was fifteen. He died when he reentered a building that had been bombed to try and help evacuate a family. It collapsed while he was still in there, the family died too. Ho was away, in Kabul, trying to get a UN group to send in assistance, but the Ten Rings were using--"

"Human shields," Tony remembered.

"He came back to Gulmira, the devastation was terrible. So many injured, so many dead, and the Ten Rings were conscripting survivors to work for them, to be human shields. They were killing the men." Tony shook his head; he remembered. All of it, he had seen it. "Yinsen came back to bury his wife and son. Raza took him at their funeral." Tony remembered that Yinsen was wearing a suit, he'd wondered why but never asked about it. "Yinsen was forced to work as a doctor and linguist. The Ten Rings had members from all over the world, and he was invaluable for communication. But he resisted, subverting them when he could. After his mother and his brother's death, Yusef and I came to Gulmira, to hide, to fight.

"Yusef and I were part of a resistance group that would try and rescue the families being used as a shield. We would steal weapons and supplies, but we were looking always for Ho, to rescue him. Yusef was trying to get me a safe passage out of the country, but we didn't have the money, the resources, to bribe officials to not inform on us. Then we were caught.

"Raza used us to force Yinsen into compliance; they did not know my husband spoke so many languages and he gathered important information from the guards. He was allowed to see Ho sometimes, and would feed him information. They were hoping to plan an escape. Give me a moment." 

She curled her knees to her chest and bowed her head, sobbing quietly. For years she had been alone. Adrift in a sea of loneliness, she had told no one what had happened, had no one _to_ tell. The pain, anguish, fear, and grief had nowhere to go, nowhere to land, and telling Tony what happened hurt almost more than she could bear. It all felt so close to the surface; she could feel the scorching burn of ignited gunpowder, the smell of the dust and burning. The exposed rebar from destroyed buildings, the black smoke, a harbinger death, filling the air. The cold and constant damp of the cave they'd been kept in, always dark, always dangerous, the days filled with terror and unending, unalterable boredom, punctuated at intervals by gunshots and bomb explosions and the terrified crying of captured women and children that were taken as human shields.

She felt a warm hand on her back between her shoulder blades. Gentle. So careful. Grounding her, bringing her back to the present reality. Tony Stark knew a PTSD flashback when he saw it, and his warm brown eyes were filled with sorrow and compassion. He wanted to say so much-- _I'm here, you're safe, it's all right, breathe,_ but he was silent, waiting to know what she needed. He remembered the strength and comfort she'd once offered him as he cried. He took her in his arms and hugged her, gentle steady pressure.

She leaned into him, thankful. She wanted to finish telling him, that was what she needed. The story came out with her tears. "My husband was killed when we tried to escape. I got... I got away. They had... They had you by then. If Ho hadn't been needed to save your life and translate English, they would likely have killed him as well." Sobs tore through her words and Tony felt her pain like the reverberations of thunder or the ocean; his own broken and breaking heart went out to her, despite his own unhappiness. He had so many questions for her.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" The question most demanding in his mind. He smoothed back her hair, his brilliant mind working to understand the puzzle. He felt as if she still was not telling him everything. He could not understand why she had hinted before at wanting to be left alone here. Something didn't make sense.

"I was waiting for the right moment. I didn't exactly know how to bring it up." Between his illness, injuries, and withdrawals, it didn't seem like a good idea to suddenly spring anything else on him. Until he'd brought up Yinsen and she'd realized why he'd come, what he'd needed, she'd even contemplated not telling him anything. For her, the past was only dark, only dangerous, and she did not see any good that could come of it. 

"Aaiza..." She hadn't heard her name spoken like that in so long... so many years. A tone of familiarity, of comfort, affection, a soft tone of rebuke. 

She did not want to tell him what happened next, but she felt compelled to at the same moment. She'd held it for so long alone. "I was pregnant when I escaped. I knew the family that lived in this home, knew that they had fled the country, we had stayed here before we were captured. No one knew of this place. I came here after."

"After your husband was killed? But... how did you get away?"

She flinched against him, covering her face, but there was no protection from her own memories; she didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to say, had thought to not speak of it. But she couldn't hold back when Tony asked about it. "Oh, God, Tony!" She sobbed, her voice filled with pain as she broke like tempered glass, completely and all at once. "They killed him, they killed Yusef! We tried to escape when they brought you in, in all the confusion from the convoy attack the guards were distracted and we tried to escape! But they caught us, it was my fault! I was too slow! They brought us back to the cave and they killed him! They put a bullet in him while he was holding me! They killed him!"

She'd shed countless tears over the years, missing him so much and feeling so alone and afraid she'd even tried to take her own life once; failing that she'd dug in, surviving without hope or fear. Just living day to day, afraid if she died then Ho, Yusef, Basil, Nadira, they would all be forgotten. It would be the last and final death of her loved ones, and, she thought, she was a coward, too afraid to die, in too much pain to live. 

"My eyes were closed, but I heard the shot. He was holding me, then he fell against me, and I fell back. They pulled him off of me and he was _dead!"_ He could only hold her tightly, tears falling from his own eyes to see her in so much pain. "The guard was supposed to kill me too. He pointed the gun at me but he didn't pull the trigger! He didn't pull the trigger!" She was so distressed, Tony worried.

"Hey, hey!" He soothed. "Okay. Okay. Shh, Aaiza, okay." He held her as tightly as his weakened state allowed, rocking her. "I'm sorry, honey, hey," he murmured against her hair.

"It might have been because I was pregnant, or a woman, or he was just a coward," she said a moment later when she was able to control her voice. "I begged him for my husband's body and he hid me in one of the cave's storage spaces until night. He gave me a cart, and Martha, and my husband's body. He said he would do worse than kill me if he ever saw me again or I ever came back. The Ten Rings would have killed him and his entire family if they knew what he did. I'm sure Ho never found out that I survived."

He pushed her away slightly so he could take her chin, waiting for her eyes to meet his. "It wasn't your fault," he said clearly. "It wasn't your fault."

Darkness had come, and the stars were bright. He held her as she cried, and he cried, feeling again that he'd failed Yinsen. He should have... she'd been alone this whole time. With the debt Tony owed him, he should have... He didn't know what he should have done. He remembered Yinsen's initial despondency, even anger. It would explain it if he had just lost his son and daughter and grandchild. He had been so focused on his own injuries and the reality of his capture and Yinsen had been silent on his own story; he thought he'd never learn it. It was so strange that it was coming back to him now, when he was seeking closure. It seemed too much of a coincidence, but it was happening. "The baby? Aaiza, the baby?"

"I buried Yusef here. I felt the pains of labor when I was digging, but I couldn't just leave him! To rot in the sun!" She clasped a hand over her mouth, willing her emotions into check. _And I thought Stark men were made of iron,_ he thought as he watched her regain a semblance of control. "The baby came. He came, too early. I bled. I didn't know anything was wrong when I was bleeding so much, I'd never had a baby before. He lived for eight hours and I--" He held her, his heart clenching in sympathetic pain. "When I woke up my neighbor had come. She's a midwife." Tony nodded, knowing that there was little health care to be had in this part of the world, and what there was, was often provided by the layperson, experienced only by apprenticeship with little formal training, and often provided for women by women. "She helped me. Her family, nomads, her husband, Jabir, he was kind to me. He had found Reena here when we were taken and kept her with them. He gave her back, and his wife and oldest son, a boy of 12, helped me. They showed me how to tend the animals, the garden, the orchard. They taught me about poppies."

"I've been here alone, un-until R-Rose," she stuttered, her breath strangled against her pain. 

"Okay. Aaiza. Okay."

"I named the baby Joseph Daniel," she told him, again pulling away to look him in the eyes. Her face was red, swollen, wet, her hair sweaty and plastered to her face. "I... I never had, had anyone... to tell his name. He was so small. He was so small, so little, Tony, he couldn't breathe and I couldn't save him. I tried to help him but he was just too little! I had to bury him next to his father." She broke down again, so overwhelmed with what she'd been carrying for so long that she was afraid of the strength of her own emotions.

Tony held her again. He knew that, as badly as she felt, as strong and powerful as her grief was, it would pass. Healing would take a long time, maybe a lifetime, but this would pass. He let her cry, allowing his own tears to continue to fall in sympathy and for everything they'd lost. In the back of his mind, though, he tried to pinpoint why he thought she wasn't telling him everything when he knew that this was probably the most honest anyone had ever been with him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cure for the pain is the pain. -Rumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the somewhat self-indulgent dad!tony, domestic!avenger, I realize it does nothing for the plot. It is canon in comics that Tony goes and visits orphanages and holds babies when he can't sleep. Actually this whole chapter is self-indulgent emotional back and forth between Tony and Aaiza, feel free to skip it if that's not what you're interested in lol

Aaiza's days were filled with small aches of one kind and another. Her work was not easy, the days were not kind. The ache now that came from crying so hard the night before was unfamiliar, and, in that respect, perhaps not entirely unpleasant. The ache of releasing, the ache of relief from something long held too tightly. Her eyes were swollen and bruised from the pressure of her sobs. She had known hard work, hunger, sacrifice, sleep deprivation. She had known terrible, aching loneliness, solitary as an oyster. She had not realized how much she needed another human being to truly process her experiences. In the aftermath, she felt foolish, weak, a burden. She was so, so sorry. Tony Stark had come to her in need of help, in need of saving, and she had cried over him like a toddler in a storm of tears.

She'd been hungover exactly once in her life, after her wedding night. After what she'd seen her brother go through, she never cared for drinking, and after she tried it on her wedding day she realized she disliked the feeling of being drunk anyway. The morning after her talk with Tony felt like that-- she'd been out of control, she'd given in to something she didn't like. She _hurt._

She sat up, her head aching, her back sore from sleeping on the floor, her arm half asleep; she had not rested well. She reached for Rose, who had mercifully slept through the night, and stroked the toddler's mussy hair. She stood and, limping slightly from yet more aches and pains that joined in the protest of the others, went to Tony.

He was also sleeping quietly, his breath easy and regular for once instead of erratic from pain and bad dreams. Reena came over and nosed Aaiza's hand, wanting an early breakfast, but Aaiza pushed her away and put a hand on Tony's forehead, gently as she could so it would not wake him. For the moment, though he still felt feverish, it felt much cooler than it had been. She prayed that the worst of the withdrawals and illness was over, and that he would soon be recovered enough from his injuries to be able to go home. Despite their inability to capture any news on the radio, she had no doubt there were many people frantically searching for him. She hoped and prayed that he would go home before they discovered him here.

She quietly woke Rose with a back scratch and small kisses, wanting to get her ready for the day. She brushed her hair and got her dressed, singing very softly to her. The did the morning chores, feeding the animals, milking the goats and gathering eggs for breakfast, speaking gently to the chickens when they clucked at her. Rose delighting in scattering their feed, watching them peck at the leaves. All the while, a fear was growing in her heart.

She'd revealed too much.

Twelve hours ago, there had been no one on the earth who knew her story, knew the truth of her identity, aside from herself. Now, one of the most famous and recognizable and high profile people on the entire planet not only knew who she was and where she came from and what had happened to her, he knew about Rose. 

Tony Stark had entire media committees dedicated to him. People whose entire job it was to find out information about him, what he was doing, who he was with, and everything about that person. Not only media, but governmental entities. As much as Aaiza longed for an escape from this life, she also feared it, perhaps even more so. The only thing she stood to lose was the thing she _could not bear_ to lose.

She started breakfast cooking then set Rose down to play, sitting beside Tony as he slept. She kept an eye on him, on Rose, while she sewed Rose a new outfit. She was close to outgrowing everything, she'd recently had a growth spurt, despite being still very small for her age. She tried to repress the growing anxiety in her heart. As terrible and lonely as she'd been, it had been steady, it had been safe. Tony Stark, and her choice to help him, had created a turbulence she didn't know how to counteract yet, didn't know how to stabilize. Her sleep was uneven, her footing unsure, and she felt as if she'd been walking along the edge of a sharp cliff and only now realized how close she was to the edge. A move even to get away from that edge and she might lose her footing entirely.

As the morning drew on she reluctantly decided to wake the sleeping genius. She would have to work in the garden today, it had been far too neglected recently and if she didn't work hard she would definitely lose some of the crops. She wanted him to eat, bathe, let her change his wound dressings. 

"Tony," she said softly, touching his shoulder. He stirred but didn't wake and she touched his face, the warmth of his light fever transferring to her cool fingertips. "Tony."

Slowly he opened his eyes, tired, hurting. He looked _old._ The past several days had aged him. But as he caught her gaze and he remembered the night before, a soft light came into his eyes, a gentleness, a pity, a shared sorrow and understanding. "Aaiza. What time is it?"

"It's nearly nine. Come here. Careful!" She helped him in her quiet, expectant way, as if she'd been caring for others her entire life. How she'd so easily stepped into the role was beyond him, when he stopped to think about it, except that her kindness and caring was something inborn. She'd adopted a child not her own, even with impossibly limited resources. He'd noticed that those that had the least were often the most generous with the things they had. She was clearly as tired as he was, but while he was getting stronger each passing day, she seemed, she seemed--

"Aaiza," he said catching her wrist. She glanced down at his hand, remembering his first night there, afraid of her, mistrusting. Now the gesture, infinitely more gentle, held an entirely different meaning. She didn't want to meet his eyes, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "I know you're afraid. What is it? Just tell me. I will help you. Whatever it is, I can probably fix it. Okay? I'm already thinking about all the ways I'm going to make your life wonderful to thank you for saving my life and my sanity. When I get out of here, I'll make everything up to you. But you've got to level with me. Right? You've got to be honest with me."

"I am," she said automatically, pulling her hand away, but he didn't let go. He looked more intently into her face, not angry, not insistent, but sad. She didn't fight him, she didn't know how to, and for a long moment, she thought that if he asked again, if he pushed her at all, she would tell him everything and really risk losing... everything. Anything that mattered to her, but she would not be able to keep it from him. 

It had been six days since Aaiza had found the broken Iron Man armor in the middle of the desert on the way to her well. In that time, they had spent nearly every moment together. Aaiza had seen him hallucinate, had nursed him through injury and alcohol detox. She had learned more about the man in a few days than most people ever did who knew him for years. The care he needed required an intimacy that he never would have allowed in his right mind. He never would have achieved that level of trust; his broken heart simply was incapable of it. But he found the trust waiting for him on the other side of his suffering, something she'd given him without ever intending to, something that maybe only she _could_ give. He already forgave her for her secret, whatever it was. He only wanted to give her something in return for all she'd done for him and all she'd given him. 

"Hey! It's okay!" The fear and sorrow in her eyes concerned him. She started to cry and he reached to comfort her and she held out a hand against his chest. 

"Please," she begged. "Please don't, Tony." Don't ask her. Don't press her. Don't comfort her, or she would completely break, again, and she didn't have the strength to. The edge of the cliff was crumbling beneath her feet, and there was nothing anyone could do but make it worse. 

Aaiza needed help. That need was terrible, perhaps even bigger than she realized, but she'd been alone so long she didn't know how to ask for help and she didn't know how to think in a way that allowed for another person's assistance. The eight years that she'd been on her own had taken a toll that Tony, for all his brilliance, couldn't account for. He'd never been cut off from help, not completely or not for long. Independence, isolation, and loneliness were so ingrained in Aaiza's entire adult life that it seemed an impossibility for her to breach it and Tony didn't even realize what the true problem was. Aaiza's own fear kept her from realizing the true threat as well, and for the both of them, a moment later as he withdrew out of respect for her wishes and her out of fear, a new danger began that neither of them anticipated as she didn't tell him.

"All right, kid. If you change your mind, I'm right here."

"Thank you, Tony. I mean it. You are very kind. But... I don't think I can leave here with you."

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. Did you say you aren't coming with me? Are you... are you _insane?_ "

"No! I'm not insane! Tony, I've been dead for eight years. I can't just show up again. You know that if you bring me back, there will be people asking questions."

"You're probably right, but I'm not sure I understand why that's a big deal," he said carefully.

"I'm sure you're used to it. But less than a week ago, the only person aside from my itinerant neighbors that even knew of my existence was Rose! I have no job, no skills, no connections. This is all I know, Tony."

"So, you know something else after a while. You can't seriously want to stay here alone."

"I don't... I mean... I do. It's complicated. But you don't have to rescue me, Tony. I'm fine here."

Tony leaned against the chair, contemplating. He could see her pulse in her throat, that's how hard her heart was pounding. She was obviously in some kind of distress about the subject and he didn't want to argue with her. "Okay, well, it's kind of a moot point anyway. Right? Until I get the armor working again. So first things first, then maybe we talk about it a little more." But even the idea of leaving her bothered him, and he couldn't resist protesting again. "I just don't see how I can leave you out here. You told me the roads were dangerous. And Rose... is this where you want her growing up?"

"Stop!"

"Okay, okay."

Her cheeks were pink. She couldn't drop it either. "I know you are used to coming in and solving everyone's problems. You can't just take charge of my life like that, or Rose's! I didn't ask for your help, you know."

"I didn't ask for yours either but you still helped me! At risk to yourself and Rose! But you won't let me help you?"

"I didn't say that. I just said... I only meant that, that I don't know about-- You'll have your life to get back to! As Tony Stark! As Iron Man. You won't be able to be with me all the time, right? You'll have to leave me in the hands of strangers. I just don't think I want that, and I certainly don't want anyone to know who I am."

"Why. Why, Aaiza? And they're not strangers, I wouldn't just dump you and Rose on the nearest warm body--"

"But they'll be strangers to me! My anonymity hasn't been for my _comfort,_ Tony, it's kept me safe. The Ten Rings aren't gone, you know, they still exist. They kept me captive and-- "

"Wait. Wait. Just... hold on for two seconds here. You're telling me... you're afraid of the Ten Rings?"

She hesitated a beat too long. "No, I'm not afraid of them because they _don't even know about me._ "

"I'm sorry, I'm just confused. Do you think that if they know about you they'd... they'd come after you? After all this time?"

"No! Probably not. Why would they?" She responded fretfully

"That's what I'm asking!" Tony said, now with irritation. It wasn't her fault; her paranoia and fear were undoubtedly born of PTSD. She needed mental help, but only if he got her out of this godforsaken desert.

"I just don't want to test my luck, do you? You were there! You know what it was like in those caves! You... you were there. I'm not like you, I can't protect myself."

"Aaiza. Aaiza, you're not making any sense." She knew. "Let me protect you!"

"My best protection is them never finding out anything about me, Tony. And you know you wouldn't be able to stop it."

"I think you're underestimating me just a tad bit, princess," he said acerbically. "I'm pretty sure there are not many places on the planet more secure than where I can put you. We can get you an entirely new identity."

"You can?" She asked skeptically.

"Yes!"

"Under the levels of scrutiny that you're under, no one could possibly find out?"

He started to argue with her again but then decided to back off. Not only was it pointless, a bitter and hot stab of guilt ripped through him as he thought of everyone he tried and failed to protect in his recent past. He put his hands on her shoulders. "All right. It's all right, Aaiza." He recognized that she'd had a rough week; rougher than him, actually. After years of isolation, having to bring a stranger into her home and care for him, revisiting long-buried grief and sorrow thanks to him, forgoing sleep and rest and even work to take care of him. The disruption to her world was incalculable, and she was right, in a way-- he had no right to strong-arm her into doing what he thought best, even if he didn't agree with her or understand her thinking. "We'll do whatever _you_ want. Okay?"

She felt a chill of fear at the thought of him leaving her here, as well, but choked back her response. He saw her flinch but did not answer, just frowned, biting his tongue. _What do you want, Aaiza? And why are you so afraid?_ It seemed to him that it was more than her past and he was just beginning to realize that though he knew she was good, kind, and decent human being, he really knew virtually nothing about her aside from the small things she'd told him.

...

Tony woke up when it was still dark. It was still, quiet. If he spoke, it would be the only sound for miles. There was nothing electric humming. Nothing even echoed from his dreams, if he'd had any-- no memory remained at all. His eyes adjusted to the darkness slowly, as details of the room crept out of the shadows by the moonlight from the windows. Sounds, too, finally picked their way to his ears-- Reena breathing. Aaiza. Rose. The soft sounds of _life, life, life, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale_ the infinite and simple rhythm. In the faint light, he could see Aaiza, sleeping. He pondered her; Aaiza, the hidden one, the buried treasure. He ignored the niggle of anxiety about her and wondered instead what Pepper would think of her, Happy, Rhodey.

Sleep had fled from him and he sat up, pushing the blankets off and going to the door. Reena lifted her head briefly, then went back to sleep. There was no lab to distract himself with; there was nothing to do. He didn't know if it bothered him or made him feel more relaxed.

He sat on the step, watching the day gradually, incrementally approach. His thoughts wandered, untethered, pushed away from uncomfortable subjects as if on a warm updraft. He thought mostly of pleasant things, for once; it was infinitely restful.

His mind picked thoughtfully at a problem he'd been having developing the nanotech. There was a fairly simple and straightforward solution to the issue, but it would involve having an arc reactor reimplanted into his chest. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. Away from New York, away from DC, from California, all the issues and pressures that had seemed so ominous and crushing simply didn't matter here.

For the first time in days, his mind drew back to the destroyed armor. He closed his eyes, probing his memories for anything related to the night he was shot down and injured. Aaiza had said that FRIDAY said they were hit by a weapon of some kind, which made very little sense. No one would have known he was coming here, and antiaircraft weapons are not usually meant to target small objects the size of the armor. Of course, that might have changed since he became Iron Man. There was also War Machine, who had been known to be active in the area when necessary to the United States Government's interests. It was possible, it was possible. But unless the weapon was on some kind of automatic setting, it was strange that no one had tracked him down to make sure he was incapacitated. Of course, if it was a long range weapon, they may simply have not had time to find him before Aaiza did.

A furrow creased his brow as he recalled flashes of that night. Drinking on the plane ride back; there had been no reason not to, it was a long flight, he couldn't sleep. He got upset about Steve and Yinsen and the broken armor, and he'd drank every drop of alcohol available. The airplane, on autopilot with FRIDAY... it was dark. Nighttime; the only light the stars. Seemed like ideal conditions. He'd intended just for a brief test flight. He'd been close enough to Afghanistan. He hadn't altered the flight plan or alerted anyone of what he was doing, of course he hadn't.

He could only imagine the fall out from the plane arriving at its destination utterly empty and no way to track just when or where they'd lost him. He wasn't even sure if he'd bothered fixing the tracking device in the suit; it was located in the arc reactor for that model, not his usual placing, for exactly the reason that ended up costing him 37 hours in Siberia-- if something happened to the arc reactor, he would be doubly screwed with no tracker. The Mark 47 had multiple trackers, as did the Spider-man suit he'd created. It never hurt to be too careful.

He recalled a flash of light in the darkness, a moment of warning from FRIDAY-- he couldn't remember what she'd said. He thought he was past this kind of thing, strong enough now to withstand attack. And this, an unknown threat, an unlooked-for assailant; it made him both afraid and angry. It was time to let the Mark 46 go. It had failed him twice now. It was time, was time, time. Time to let go.

He stood up, stretching carefully, testing the limits of his body. He pulled up his shirt and looked at the wound on his side by the gray pre-dawn light. It was itchy; slightly red, irritated, still subject to sharp pain when he moved too suddenly. Healing. It needed an antibiotic, though, that was clear. The left side of his body, covered in bruises now faded to greens and blues instead of angry red and purple. His wrist, still tightly splinted, would need more time as well, perhaps an MRI. But he'd survive.

He went back inside. Aaiza was still dead asleep, but little Rose was awake, playing quietly with her small doll. Her curls were tousled from sleep, making her look endearingly like a hobbit. Tony hesitated, not wanting to overstep... but Aaiza looked pale and exhausted in the soft light, and even if he could only steal her a few more minutes of sleep, it would be worth it. He leaned over the sleeping woman and held out his hands to Rose. She reached back for him without hesitation, trusting, innocent. Tony Stark smiled. 

Even her negligent weight strained his injuries but it was almost pleasant to push back against the pain. He spoke quietly to the small toddler, soft good-morning phrases. "Hello sunshine! Good morning!" He thought a minute and was able to recall a small song he'd heard at the orphanage. " _Good morning sky! Good morning sun! Good morning little winds that run! Good morning birds, good morning trees, good morning creeping grass and bumble bees!_ " Rose smiled and grabbed his face, looking surprised then interested in the texture of his scruffy facial hair. She ran her tiny fingers over his face, concentrating. 

It had been a long time, maybe more than a year at this point, since he'd taken care of any kids. But he found that it was not difficult to fall back into the easy, specific care and gentleness it required. Very quietly he took her to the bathroom, damped a cloth to wash her face and hands and feet. She only had a few clothes, so they were not changed daily as long as they were clean, so he took the rag to a few spots of food from her dinner and cleaned her up. He'd never brushed hair like hers before and he was terrified of hurting her by pulling on her hair but Rose seemed indifferent to his attempts so he managed to comb her hair a bit without freaking himself out too badly. 

When he was finished, Aaiza still slept and he frowned, a little worried. She'd never slept in in the time that he'd been here, but then again she'd worked until far into the late evening with the sun gone down, saying that she needed the relief of the blazing sun. He'd recognized a punishing work when he saw it. Reena shook and stood up, looking up expectantly at Tony. He shrugged in capitulation and started Aaiza's morning routine. He went outside and fed the animals, giving Rose the chicken feed as Aaiza did every morning. His body fatigued after not very long, but it was invigorating too, to be productive, to use his hands even in a minor way when he'd been basically confined to bed for a week.

When the morning chores were finished as best he could (he could not find the strength to lift the water to give the animals a drink, he found, not with one wrist injured), he came back in the house with Rose and Reena leading the way, Rose pointing and jabbering in Dari. He washed his hands and took a doubtful inventory of the morning's chores-- goat's milk and eggs. There was produce from the garden. Sure. He could... he could definitely cook something, probably.

Giving Rose a cup of milk and setting her at the table where he could keep an eye on her, he knelt down to examine the gas stove. It was old; fueled with propane tanks. Aaiza did ninety percent of her cooking on an outdoor firepit, but that seemed a bit advanced for his skills. Scrambling some eggs and cutting some fruit was about all he felt up to. 

The fruit looked terrible; it was difficult to slice them with one hand hampered by the splint. But they were edible, if Rose's approval was any indication; she seemed happy to eat the apricots he had cut into small pieces for her. The eggs were not great, but they were not too bad. He limped over to Aaiza; his left side was definitely aching from all the activity and putting weight on that leg made it hurt worse. 

"Aaiza," he called softly, not wanting to startle her. She still slept. He knelt down, hesitant. Would she mind him touching her? They had hugged and held each other several times, but always in a context of giving and receiving comfort. He didn't want to infringe on any boundaries, but he didn't want to scare her by raising his voice either. He finally reached over and touched her hand. "Aaiza. Rise and shine!"

He watched as sleep left her face and as her eyes opened, she became alarmed. "It's okay!" He soothed. "Everything's okay. Time for breakfast."

"What time is it?" She asked, her voice still sleepy as she shoved the blankets off and quickly rose. "I overslept!"

"Easy, easy!" He stood, holding his side, smiling at her a little. "You overworked yourself yesterday. You needed the rest, but it's okay me and Rose have everything covered."

Aaiza looked flustered. She gave him a grateful but embarrassed smile. "Sorry, Tony, the last thing I ever wanted was to put you to work."

"And the last thing I needed was more rest. But you did. You've been burning the candle at both ends since I got here, kiddo, you were due a break." He eased into the chair across from her and handed her the plate of eggs. "I cannot, unfortunately, vouch for my cooking. Vision took it upon himself to give me a few pointers after Pepper--" the word seemed to trip him up unexpectedly, as if he weren't prepared for the rush of emotions the memory evoked. He cleared his throat. "After Pepper told him I was a hopeless cook. He was enthusiastic, if nothing else." 

Aaiza ate a breakfast not prepared by her own hand for the first time in many years-- not since the baby died. It was the same fare as always, yet-- very different. It was different. She thought it might be the first of many differences she might have to learn.

"I was thinking we can probably get the armor today," Tony said, cutting one of the pieces of fruit a little smaller for Rose. "Once I get a look at it, we'll be able to see what needs to happen to fix it or if it can't be fixed, move on from there." 

Aaiza nodded her agreement with the plan, but had her doubts. Tony didn't look capable of moving much of anything. There was a risk of being seen, as well, but that was always a risk.

"They may be watching for us. Even if we escape detection by our enemies, it will be very dangerous. If we are confronted somehow, it will mean both of our deaths if they have any reason to suspect you are not my husband."

"We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Trust me, Tony. This place is obscure; no one knows I live here except for a few people who are not even in the area at the moment. But _someone_ shot down Iron Man, and we are in no position to defend ourselves against a strong enemy."

"I can't just hide here forever."

"I didn't say that. We just need to be careful."

"We will."

"Maybe we should wait until nightfall--"

"We would need light to see by, and it would cause more attention in the nighttime if anyone is watching. They could be expecting that. There's not going to be as many people wandering the roads in the heat of the day."

Aaiza fretted. There was no safe time, no safe way. "Perhaps we should wait just a few more days. This is the first time you've been out of bed. I don't think you'll be able to walk far in the heat, Tony."

"You've got to trust me, too, Aaiza. We need that armor. We're sitting ducks. If they find it first, or find us before we can get it, we're going to be a lot worse off. We're going to be okay. I just need to see it."

She capitulated to his judgment despite her reservations. Always her instinct was to protect herself and Rose, but he was right.

Aaiza cleaned up from breakfast quietly, fretful. She knew they couldn't just stay here, hidden away forever. She knew he had to go back. She understood that. Even if he were an ordinary man, that would be plausible. And he wasn't. An ordinary man. 

She pulled out the Punjabi she wore into the village and dressed Rose before putting on her hijab. She pulled out some of her husband's old conservative clothes. Though he had worn clothes mostly in the western style, he did have a _perahan tunban._ There were different styles of dress tolerated in Gulmira, but if anyone saw Tony, it could only help him to not stand out too much.

With his beard grown out for the past week, he was hardly recognizable.

Tony agreed to ride in the cart; he knew he was pushing his luck as it was. He held Rose while Aaiza finished the morning chores, packing things for the market to sell and trade, securing the animals in their pens so they didn't wander too far while she was away. 

She went back to the house and came out a moment later. She had the gun.

"We should bring this. Just in case. Will you... would you carry it? Please?" Tony of course knew how to handle the handgun; despite his change in careers from a weapons expert, those years of knowledge and expertise remained. He wasn't extremely fond of guns but he could see that this was something he could do for her, so he nodded, taking the gun and holster, making sure his clothing covered it. 

But her hands shook when he took it from her. He studied her face. She tried to give him a reassuring smile but could see by his troubled expression she had badly failed.

"It's okay," she said, embarrassed by the lump in her throat. "I'm afraid over nothing. Let's go." 

There was nothing he could say to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Aaiza have an interesting dynamic. Both injured in their own way, but what helps Tony injures Aaiza. One rests and the other becomes more tired. Yin and Yang, push and pull, day and night, sun and stars, warm and cold. And yet very very similar in so many ways. They're fun to write about.
> 
> PS *obligatory begging for comments*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you desire healing,  
> let yourself fall ill  
> let yourself fall ill.  
> -rumi

Aaiza helped him uncover the Mark 46 armor, the shrubs scratching them up a bit as they had dried out in their absence. He knelt down in the dust and dim light of the rocky shelter, partially from exhaustion partially from the emotions seeing the ruined armor provoked. Afghanistan and Siberia, Yinsen and Aaiza, Obadiah and Steve Rogers. He rubbed his chest, the arc reactor long gone but the scars and the pain remained. Phantom shrapnel pain, phantom cold, phantom fear and anger. He was haunted. 

He felt Aaiza's hand on his shoulder. Blindly he reached up and held it tightly, briefly, and let go. She took this as a tacit request to be left alone. She carried in her toolbox; there was not much chance of it having the tools he needed for such specialized mechanic work, but he would hopefully find something helpful in it. With his injured wrist, they were going to need more than a little luck as it was.

She made sure that Reena was by Martha, signaling for the dog to _guard._ Watching Martha and Reena for signs of someone approaching would give them at least a little time if it came to that. Though the sun was high, it was difficult to see in the diffused light. She held the lantern high to chase away the shadows and light up the dim, filtered light.

Tony was fiddling with the armor, examining it. He tapped a few things on the suit to open it, assessing the damage. He moved his lips into a whistle without making a noise. Any small chance of a quick fix was eliminated; the damage from Siberia had left it far more vulnerable to the destruction that it had sustained. Even if he had the right tools and parts to fix it, he could see immediately that the suit was nothing better than scrap material now. Tony didn't describe himself as sentimental, especially when it came to the armors; for the most part, each suit was only good to help him understand how the next one could be better. He couldn't place his finger on a reason why this one was affecting him so badly or why he cared so much, even given the symbolism of moving on from Steve and Siberia.

Sometimes holding something too tightly only made you lose it faster, and perhaps more permanently. He ran his finger along the arc reactor. 

He bowed his head, thinking, Aaiza holding the light.

"We've got to get it home, I can't fix it here. We'll see if I can't use it to at least call for some help. If not, plan B, we go to Gulmira and see what we can do, call Rhodey collect or something." He stood with some effort, pushing off from his knee to give himself some momentum, walking with a limp on his still aching ankle.

"Then they... they'll come to my home to get you. Right?" Tony glanced at her, but she had put the lantern down and her face wasn't clear in the dim light.

"I can... depending on what kind of signal or communication, maybe they can pick me up in Gulmira," he said carefully. They hadn't discussed what she would do anymore after they'd argued about it. Tony had promised her they'd do whatever she wanted and she had never brought it up again.

She still said nothing, coughing into her shoulder and watching Rose explore the rocks a moment before she and Tony went through their supplies to figure out how to get the heavy armor home. It was a simple matter of physics and leverage and luckily there were things that Tony could use to make a pulley system to get the armor on the cart. They covered it with a canvas tarp and made their way back toward Aaiza's home. Tony immediately curled up in the back of the cart, pale as a ghost even though Aaiza had done most of the lifting and moving while he held Rose. Even the small exertion had taken a lot out of him. His feet hanging out the back, he lay with his arm across his eyes.

They were too close to Gulmira for Aaiza to be comfortable. They were off the beaten path after a couple of miles but there were people traveling toward the city on other roads within sight. Her back was rigidly straight as she drove them home. She knew that others were making note of her presence on the road, and it made her afraid, terribly afraid; if any of them knew anything about her, they would know it was odd that she was out and about with the cart, they might see Tony as he wasn't completely hidden, they might wonder where she'd been.

It didn't matter how much she told herself it was paranoia, her anxiety was sky high even once they were out of sight of the roads. If anyone stumbled on their path they might find where the armor had been hidden and ask questions. _Someone_ out there knew that something was shot down that night; someone pulled the trigger and that someone was undoubtedly searching for them and a small discussion of anything out of the ordinary might lead them right to her and Rose. 

It was much more difficult to get the armor into the house, especially since Tony was visibly ill, slightly gray now. She helped him in; he leaned heavily on her, nearly falling through the doorway. "Give me a sec, just a sec, I'll come help."

"Shh," she said waving her hand in dismissal. She was a bit out of breath. "It's okay. It's not like it's going anywhere. Come here, Rose, sweetheart. Reena." She took a few minutes to get them all settled, bringing Tony water and kneeling by his bed to rest and catch her breath. She was so lost in her worried thoughts about everything that was about to happen, everything that was about to change, she didn't notice that he was watching her. 

"Hey. You okay? Did you get hurt helping load it?"

"No, I'm all right. What do you need?" She asked, immediately focusing on him, grabbing his shoulder.

"Hey, no. Not what _I_ need. Tell me what's happening, what do _you_ need?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think it's easier to understand what others need than what I need myself. Does that happen to you, ever?"

"Yeah, sometimes." She could not identify what was in his tone in that moment.

"I'm okay," she assured him, realizing that in the moment it was perfectly true. It was what would happen next that worried her and she felt very little control over any of that. She set Reena to guard and kept a watchful eye on the horizon as she and Rose walked through the orchard picking ripe fruit to bottle. When she got back Tony had finished resting and was at the table or on the floor working on bits of the armor. She put Rose down for a little nap (longing for a moment to join her, emotionally and physically exhausted), glancing over to see what progress Tony had made.

Having the armor to tinker with worked a strange effect on Tony. She saw that there was much more color in his face, and his eyes were more focused and animated, the pain that had been haunting them momentarily stymied. She finished the day's chores in the garden and orchard until it got too hot, then came in the house to wash and cook and care for Rose, all the while Tony was taking the armor apart and cannibalizing pieces to use as tools. He seemed unbothered by the heat or anything else, sweating and muttering to himself as he worked.

Aaiza smiled behind his back, enjoying the change in his demeanor. She thought it must be good for him sweat and finish detoxing, and unobtrusively she made sure that he was drinking water and eating. "How's it going?" She asked a few hours later, putting a plate of food near his elbow.

He turned and picked up the plate, digging into the food. It was the most enthusiastic she'd seen him when it came to eating; he'd never seemed to have much of an appetite. 

"Well... I'll get it there. It's just going to take some tinkering. But I can get it to work."

"The armor?"

"No... no. It's done for. But I can get FRI back online, have her light the beacons of Gondor, see if Rohan sends back up."

"Or at least a wizard," she said with a smile and he grinned back at her, pleased she'd gotten his reference. He turned back to the table and held up the arc reactor. She stepped closer to have a look and he handed it to her.

"It... it's kind of beautiful." She turned it over, examining it. "It kind of reminds me of a flower."

He laughed. "Yeah, maybe. Doesn't smell so sweet though." She of course had to smell it when he said that and her nose wrinkled at the pungent odor. 

"What is that?"

"That, my dear, is the smell made by the repulsor tech. One of a kind."

"It doesn't smell good, but it's not like... terrible. It could smell worse."

"Well thanks," he said smiling as she continued to look it over. He rubbed his sore wrist, which was aching badly from the strain of the careful work he was doing. Between that and his depleted strength, he was disappointed at how long it was going to take. He had thought that he'd be home by tonight at the latest, but it would take at least the rest of the day if not tomorrow to get it working right. He knew his eagerness was matched by her reluctance and a part of him wished to spare her. Yet he couldn't just stay here. He had to get back. He just hated that there was one more person, especially this one, herself a kind and generous person as well as Yinsen's daughter-in-law, sacrificed on the altar of Iron Man's existence.

He thought of Pepper, his heart twisting painfully. She'd be worried sick by now. He wished she were here to speak with Aaiza, comfort her, help her. She was always so good at this kind of thing.

Aaiza saw the change in his face and moved away, setting the arc reactor back on the table with care and gentleness. He knew she was avoiding thinking about leaving, talking about it, perhaps she was even avoiding making a decision. 

"I'd expect to be out of your hair in the next day or so," he said tentatively. She nodded, biting her lip, stirring the pot. He stood up and limped over to her as she stirred fruit on the stove, preparing them for being jarred.

"So. Bottled peaches. You planning on staying around here then, kid?"

She forced herself to look up at him. "No. I... I guess I know, in my heart, I have to leave here. But what if... what if something happens? And you have to leave me behind, or the signal doesn't work. Or something else. I don't know. It's just... time to bottle peaches."

"Okay, just... first of all, I won't leave you behind unless you want me to. I can safely promise you that, Aaiza. I'd do whatever it took. Second, I can make it work for you here. I promise. Whatever you want. Fix this place up. Or I'll move you somewhere safer but here in Afghanistan, but hot water. Stability. Electricity, whatever you want."

She turned off the stove and watched as the water went from a boil to a simmer to still water, steam coming off. "I've been thinking about everything we talked about. I'm afraid because I've been alone for so long, being back with people... I am afraid. If it were only me, I would stay. But this is no place for a child to grow. She will want to learn and read and _play._ She should see other children her own age. It wouldn't be fair to her."

"Or you," he argued. "You shouldn't be alone."

"I will be alone no matter where I live," she said looking away, swallowing against pain in her throat. "Do you honestly think I'm going to join in on some dating scene there? That there's going to be someone out there willing to deal with all the baggage I have? Just look at me. I don't even know how to be human anymore. And a daughter? I can't even stand the idea of how much you will have to help me, Tony. I can't... I hate it. A place to live, a job, I'm sure I'll have to get some kind of education after being out of everything for so long so that means finding help with Rose? Being away from her?" She clenched her fists. "Even the idea of doctors, or a dentist. Cars, right? And driving? The weather. Having to probably get, get _clothes,_ and buy food from a _store._ I know about cell phones and computers, and I'm just supposed to, what, figure that out somehow?"

She was visibly upset now, picking up a wash rag and wiping off the counter where the syrup from the fruit had started to attract flies. He went to her and put his hands on her shoulders. He felt helpless in the face of all that threatened to overwhelm her, but he had his own firm belief that she'd be much better off away from here, safe in the modern world. And the help she was so frightened of, that was nothing to worry about. None of what she'd mentioned was necessarily a _bad_ thing; she was strong, she would deal with it.

"You're the most _human_ human I know, Aaiza. And change is good but transition can be hard," he told her as she turned to face him again. He kept his hands on her shoulders. "But transition is temporary. And you won't have to do it alone."

She glanced at him and away again. She was desperately lonely and yet just as desperately wanted to be alone. He couldn't understand, any more than she could understand his world.

"None of it matters. It must be done," she said more matter-of-factly. She looked down at the rag in her hand and set it down. She looked around the room, an expression approximate to _grief_ crossing her face. "I don't know what to do with any of this stuff. My crops, my animals. I can't just abandon them."

"That family that helped you. Jabir, his wife the midwife. What about them?"

"They are nomads, they don't stay anywhere. I guess I could take them to Gulmira to sell or give away. There is a family there that could probably take over the farm and orchard." She brightened at the possibility. Then she sighed. "I don't even know if they're around."

"We can go tomorrow and see."

"It would be best if you didn't come, Tony. It would still be dangerous. Though Gulmira is a bit safer than some areas, it only takes one member of the Taliban to decide we're doing something wrong and cause trouble."

"I think I could handle--"

"No, Tony. No! No, please, I couldn't bear it if something happened to you, but I will be much safer as well if I go on my own." She frowned in worry, glancing at the lowering sun, feeling suddenly cold. "Okay. T-tomorrow. Tomorrow, you'll finish this and I'll... I'll go to them and see... I might have to bring them here. How will that work? They have a boy, I can bring him here, he can show them..."

"Aaiza, honey... I can bring the animals with us if you want. Set you on a little piece of land in America. Midwest, something like that."

"N-no, that's... that'd be silly. There are people here who need... it would help them immensely. I can't just bring the goats and chickens, think of how terrified they would be! It's- it's okay. I can do it."

Tony slowly went back to the table, troubled in her behalf. He still hadn't even gotten the arc reactor going. What he needed--

"Say, Aaiza? Could I use your power generator? I'd have to take it apart."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Let me..."

"I'll go work out there, maybe. Set up shop out there. I'll take this lantern for when it gets dark, okay?"

"Okay. I'll just... I guess I'll cook dinner. I don't know what to do with myself. I can't believe... I guess I don't have any other work to do."

She'd sat down at the table, looking a bit forlornly around the place she'd called home for so long. It wasn't much but she'd built a life there, one where she felt relatively safe and happy with Rose. Tony knelt down until he was eye level with her.

"I don't know how, but I'm gonna make it up to you, Aaiza. I promise. I'm going to make sure you're happy and safe. Nothing will be more important to me than that. You saved my life. You Yinsen's... I'm going to take good care of you. We just got to get there, okay?"

She offered him a tentative smile. "I don't doubt you, Tony."

He wanted to argue with that, knowing her doubt was in herself, but for the moment if she could trust him, that could be enough. He would build on that. He finished eating and together moved the equipment and tools he'd need to the area where the generator was. "Don't wait up." He grinned and for a moment looked boyish, so unlike the person in the magazines or how he'd been so far, but she thought maybe she was seeing him be truly himself for a moment and couldn't help but smile big in return.

...

"What time is it?"

"It's uh... I'm not sure. Hang on. I think it's around three."

"Is it working? Did you send for help?" Aaiza sat up, turning on the lantern, her body cold and achy with tiredness. She could see Tony in the too white, too bright light, casting sharp shadows and making her familiar home seem a bit eerie.

"Yeah. I did it, Aaiza. _We_ did it, I mean; I couldn't have done it without your help. I got the arc reactor working and was able to boot up FRIDAY. Couldn't send audio, but I got some text thorough to Rhodey and Vision and help is on the way."

"That... that's amazing Tony." She got out of bed, careful to not wake Rose, and lit the lantern, sitting at the table. "How long until they get here?"

"I think it'll be about ten hours. They're taking the quinjet, since it's not like there's a friendly airport or anything, we need something big enough for all of us but capable of verticle takeoff... They're having to do a little, uh, what do we say... finagling. They'll see if they can quickly get permission to come here or just make sure they have one equipped with stealth so it'll take them some time to get that all sorted out."

"Ten hours. Right. Oh... Okay."

"We don't have to leave then," he said quickly.

"I don't think it's a good idea to stick around and see if the people who attacked you want a second shot, Tony," she said with asperity. "I... I'm not a child. It will be fine."

It would be fine.

...

A golden sunrise shot through with rosy pinks and warm oranges bathed the arid land in a soft glow. Aaiza stood and beheld it a long time as if seeing it for the first time instead of the last. It was beautiful, truly, truly beautiful. In a few more hours she would leave here. And she knew she would never see it again, would never return. She wrapped her arms around herself, holding her sides tightly, feeling... she did not know. Reena nudged her and she petted the aging dog with fond affection.

"Are you okay?" Tony asked, a silent witness to her wordless grief.

"I think so. I feel... different." She reached down and moved one of the flowers they had planted from her flower box. Now they would adorn the graves; hopefully they would find some way to flourish without her care. Like so much of what she'd given her time and energy to here, she would have to trust that it had been enough.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes I am sure. Only, I do not think anyone will visit their graves when I am gone and that makes me sad."

"Aaiza..."

"It's okay, Tony. It's okay."

"What do you think happens when we die?" His chest and throat ached with grief, his own and seeing Aaiza's. Tony wasn't sure what made him ask the morbid question, except now that they were so close to going back he felt the press of the old worries... something big approaching, and now no team, no Avengers to face it. He had the haunted feeling of someone staring into a deep abyss of darkness knowing that the journey was his alone to make. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so fast to leave here, the endless quiet and _rest._ But Tony Stark was not built for rest. Even as he felt compelled to _act,_ he wondered if he would look back at the end of his life and wonder if he'd really accomplished anything of worth.

"I know that those who love us miss us."

Tony felt a twist in his heart, painful, and it was enough to allow the tears he could not shed to finally fall. He was still a man who had everything and nothing; he'd had Pepper and lost her, he'd had the Avengers and lost them. Already in his life he had faced death many times, with no prospect of hope or rescue. He could not help but think Yinsen would be disappointed in him, despite or even because of his efforts. Aaiza put a hand on his shoulder. 

His life was not over. 

"Whatever happens now, Tony... follow your heart." He didn't know what made her say it. She was privy, through his hallucinogenic ramblings and the things he'd shared with her, to much of what he'd been through in the past few years. She had to think that both of their lives, and perhaps many others, depended deeply on what Tony Stark would do from here.

...

It was pathetically easy to leave. Aaiza knew it should be a relief to her, but it was not; it was the opposite of comfortable. The small family she had thought of to take over the animals and growing things had been enthusiastic and did not answer questions, even finding her on the doorstep at the crack of dawn. She had seen the small grandmother watching her shrewdly, even with pity and concern, wondering what was prompting her desertion of her home of many years. The wife and the oldest son had come back with her and allowed her to show them how she cared and kept it up. She showed them the generator, though it wasn't working anymore; there was a good chance they could find the right part and have electricity and use it to power the pumps that filled the tanks from the well. The son seemed fascinated and quickly understood what she was telling him in Dari about how to repair it. The wife was silently wiping away her tears; their family had been crippled by poverty and the new farm, while entailing hard work, would put them in a considerably more comfortable position.

When they left, with instructions to come back that evening after they'd had some time to pack and make their own arrangements, Tony came out from where he'd hidden with the remains of the armor in the shed. There was not much to be said. Aaiza finished the morning chores, making sure all the animals had more than enough food and water for the day in case there was some delay in the new family arriving. She spoke quietly and petted each one, each small creature contributing to her and Rose's survival, no small thing.

She folded her and Rose's clothes; she had not boxes or suitcases. She cried silently a few times, though she smiled reassuringly at Tony when he came to comfort her. Tony held Rose and helped get things orderly and clean. She gathered the precious few belongings that were her husbands, one or two precious but worthless items that had belonged to the Yinsen family. Now all that was left to do was wait; for the end, and to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Tony asks Aaiza what she thinks happens when they die and she responds "I know the people who love us miss us," that's from a keanu reeves interview and I think it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard.


End file.
